Ghosts in the Wind
by sugah66
Summary: When an attempted robbery in a bodega leaves nine people dead, everyone is on the case. And even that isn’t going to be enough to bring this killer to justice. DL, FlackOC. First in the Terra Fabula series.
1. A Sense of Foreboding

**TITLE: Ghosts in the Wind  
AUTHOR: Sugah  
SUMMARY: It rarely happens – a case so huge that all of the CSIs must work together. But when an attempted robbery in a bodega leaves nine people dead, everyone is on the case. And even that isn't going to be enough to bring this killer to justice.  
SPOILERS: Any and all aired episodes.  
PAIRING: Eventual D/L, slight Flack/OC  
RATING: T. I may up it later for language and violence, but right now, it's at T.  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the show or the characters. Only in the magical land of Narnia. I only own my OC.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Takes place well after Lindsay returns from Montana. Since I don't read spoilers, I have no idea when that may be, or what is going to happen. I very much appreciate NO ONE TELLING ME. I don't read spoilers. Please don't feel the need to enlighten me. I prefer to remain in the dark. Thank you. If anyone does spoil me, there will be hell to pay. You do not want to piss me off.**

**Many, many thanks go to Blue for the beta and Spunky for the gamma.  
**

* * *

**Chapter One: A Sense of Foreboding**

The New York Symphony Orchestra was giving a command performance.

Unfortunately, it was in Danny Messer's head.

The pounding was unbearable; it was like someone had taken a two by four and nailed him right on the forehead. Repeatedly. He refused to open his eyes, because the light would just make it worse. And he could feel the sun beating down on his bare arms, so he knew it was morning. His tongue was thick in his throat, and his entire mouth felt fuzzy, almost as though he had swallowed a towel sometime during the night – which was entirely possible. He'd done stranger things when intoxicated.

He shifted on the mattress and groaned loudly. The noise made his head throb again. It wasn't the only thing, either. He was sore. Everywhere. He was sore in places he hadn't even realized had muscles. Had he run the New York Marathon last night and didn't remember? He knew he couldn't lay in bed forever. Eventually, he had to schlep into the lab. He blearily opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. The sunlight was filtering in through the slats of the partially open Venetian blinds. The music in his head crescendoed. He blindly groped for the bedside table in search of his glasses.

There was no bedside table.

This was not his room.

Few things panicked Danny more than waking up in unfamiliar surroundings. He groaned again and covered his face with his hands. This was not a good way to start the day. Steeling himself for the inevitable, he lowered his hands and glanced around the room.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, he hadn't yet decided – he recognized it. It wasn't his, but it was just as familiar. There was a time, not that long ago, when he could have navigated the room in his sleep. Right now, though, this was the last place he wanted to be. He knew he shouldn't have had that fifth shot of tequila. Tequila always fucked him up. But the body shots had been his idea. She just looked so damn fine in that bustier top she'd been wearing. He remembered that top. He'd removed it on multiple occasions. No man alive could resist that top.

The top in question was lying a few feet from the bed, crumpled into a ball in front of the dresser. His glasses sat on top of said dresser. She must have picked them up, because he distinctly remembered dropping them on the floor the previous night.

Danny slid his legs out from underneath the sheet, only just now realizing that he was naked. Well, this was just fantastic. Any hope he'd had that they hadn't done what he thought they'd done vanished as soon as he caught sight of his boxer-briefs hanging from the corner of her bedroom door. He padded barefoot across the room to retrieve them and heard the unmistakable sounds of the shower running down the hall. He glanced at his watch. He had to leave in about five minutes or he would be late for work, so he couldn't stick around for the breakfast she would surely make. He'd have to just take off without saying goodbye. He hated doing that to her, but today he had no choice. She would understand.

He absently wondered, as he pulled on his jeans, if he should feel guilty about this. But the fact that he was wondering, and not actually feeling guilty, spoke volumes. Why should he feel guilty? They were both currently unattached, and neither had any delusions that whatever they shared meant anything more than what it did. She was more than willing, though granted the tequila might have affected her judgment. It didn't mess her up the way it did him, though. Next time they went out, he'd have to make her drink whiskey. That was her Kryptonite.

Unfortunately, it was the only thing. He had to hand it to her… That woman could definitely hold her liquor.

Now completely dressed, he stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, headed for the coffee maker. A pot was already brewing, but as he approached it, he saw that a note had been taped to the top.

_B-_

_Water first. Coffee later. Trust me. Remember the ferry incident?_

_-R_

He rolled his eyes but opened the fridge and pulled a bottle of water out of it. The ferry incident was something he didn't care to remember, actually. He still avoided the ferry launch. He drained half the bottle in three gulps and glanced at the clock on the microwave. He didn't have time to wait for the coffee to finish perking. He'd just have to grab a cup on his way into the lab.

The water was still running. She always took an eternity in the shower. He suspected it was her way off washing off the nightmares that always plagued her sleep. All the times he'd spent the night, he didn't think she'd ever slept soundly. He did what he could, but her demons were her own, and though she was exceptional at fighting them off during the day, it was a different story when the lights went out. He supposed that was one reason she never protested when he came over, even after they decided that this thing they had was too complicated to continue.

He grabbed a pen from the junk drawer and scribbled a quick goodbye underneath the note she'd left on the coffee maker, tossed the now empty water bottle in the recycling bin by the kitchen door, and left, taking care to lock the door behind him.

* * *

Flack sat in the table at the window, gingerly sipping his coffee. It was hot and kind of bitter – the machine must have been on the fritz. Although, he had decided to try something different than his usual black coffee, so maybe the bitter taste was his tongue's way of telling him to switch back. 

He'd been coming to this diner for several months now, ever since their investigation into the death of a paintball player had revealed that an officer under his charge had stolen heroin from a previous drug bust. Mac had taken Flack's notes from the bust and used them to bring the officer down. He really had no choice in the matter, but the rest of the department didn't seem to see it that way. He had practically been shunned. So instead of brown bagging it for lunch, as he usually did, he had started eating out more often. The diner was within walking distance of the precinct, but not close enough that it was frequented by other cops, so he was generally safe in coming here.

He usually chose the table in the window because he liked to watch the people passing by on the sidewalk. He found that observing the passersby helped him with his investigative skills. He liked to study the way people walked and moved and attempt to determine what kind of mood they were in. He concentrated on their facial features and mannerisms when they were having conversations and tried to figure out the tone of their voices.

A girl walking by the window caught his eye. She looked about sixteen, but she carried herself like a woman of the world. She stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and started digging through her purse, emerging triumphantly with her phone after a few moments. She flipped it open and stepped to the side, closer to the window and out of people's way. She turned towards the window – and Flack – presumably to better hear the person on the other end of the line.

Her hair was dark brown, almost black, and fell to her mid-back in loose curls. Her skin was darker, so he imagined that she was Spanish. Her eyes were a smoky gray color, and they lit up when she smiled, which she was doing at the moment – a bright, sunny smile that threatened to split her face in two. She had a great figure – curvy in all the right places, nicely toned arms, and shapely legs. And he thanked every deity he could think of for the unseasonable warmth they'd been having lately, because that outfit she was wearing would feed his fantasies for the rest of his life; the tight jeans showed off her muscular thighs and the curve of her ass, the tiny T-shirt revealed just enough of her midriff to be tantalizing, and he was suddenly very jealous of her shoes.

He leaned closer to the window to get a better look. They were sneakers – thick-soled gray sneakers with lighter gray patches at the toe and heels. Yeah, he was pretty sure he had seen those shoes in the store the other day and had given serious consideration to purchasing them himself. He glanced up at the girl again, wondering what made her the type of woman who would buy men's shoes, and that's when he caught sight of the top edge of her tattoo, nestled on her hip, peeking out over the waistband of her jeans.

God. She was killing him, and she didn't even know it. He returned his eyes to her face.

She wasn't smiling anymore. Her eyes had darkened; her brow was furrowed. He didn't need to hear her conversation to know that she was arguing with the person on the other end. He could tell. There was tenseness in her body that had been absent before, and she clenched and unclenched the fingers of her free hand as she talked. The muscles in her jaw were twitching. After a few minutes she angrily hung up and dropped the phone into her open purse. She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping, and rested her forehead against the window, her eyes trained on the floor of the coffee shop.

Then she looked up and met his gaze.

For one moment, one spectacular moment, they locked eyes. She was beautiful, and she was looking right at him. He looked away, embarrassed that she had caught him staring. His cheeks burned with humiliation, his eyes downcast, engrossed with the way the cream swirled in his coffee. He cautiously raised his eyes again, sure that she would be gone. But she was still standing there.

Her gaze was intense, penetrating. She stared him down without blinking, without flinching. Suddenly uncomfortable, he nodded to acknowledge her. She gave him the once-over and a smile, then turned around and melded into the crowd of pedestrians.

He went after her, but by the time he had gotten out onto the sidewalk, she had disappeared. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and started back towards the station, leaving his unfinished coffee on the table in the diner.

Of course, when he told the story later, he got her number.

* * *

Lindsay got a chill as soon as she approached the perimeter of the crime scene. The yellow crime scene tape seemed to stretch the entire block around the tiny bodega. Normally, there would be interested passersby – people crowding around the tape for a peek at the bodies – but today there was no one. Police cruisers blocked both entrances to the street. Save for the necessary personnel – the officers, the coroners, and the CSIs – the entire street was empty. 

Not a good sign.

She had never known that a street in New York City could be so quiet, almost as though the city itself seemed to realize what had happened here. The whole area had a sense of foreboding. It was eerie.

She heard Danny approach and turned to look at him as he knelt and placed his kit on the ground. He was moving much more slowly than usual. His face was haggard and drawn, and he had barely been able to keep his eyes open all day. Twice that morning, she had caught him napping at his desk, his hand still clutching the pen he'd been using to fill out his paperwork. He'd been late, too. He was never late. He was always sitting at his desk when she arrived. She had asked him if he was feeling okay. He'd answered that he just hadn't gotten enough sleep and quickly changed the subject. She didn't want to broach the topic again.

If it were something more serious, she hoped he would confide in her. Though she could hardly ask him to do so when she had, until just recently, been unwilling to open up to him. If she hadn't needed to return to Montana, Danny might never have found out why she had been pushing him away since October.

"Shit," Danny muttered under his breath. He stared at the crime scene. She wondered if he was as hesitant to cross the tape as she was. He stooped, picked up his kit, and lifted the tape for her. "C'mon, Montana. Nothing worse than a cold crime scene."

She ducked under the tape, and her stomach went cold, despite the warm temperature. She now saw why it seemed as though the entire block had been taped off.

There was high velocity spatter on both the sidewalk and the windows of the bodega, in addition to the blood trail that led from the door down the street, and the blood pools that were accumulating in the gutter. Lindsay and Danny carefully picked their way among the blood drops to enter the bodega, which made the mess on the street look insignificant.

Lindsay knew that she would never grow accustomed to the smell of death. She tolerated it because she must, but it burned her nostrils, it made her eyes water. The bodega reeked of it. And though the coroner had removed the bodies, she could plainly imagine how the scene must have looked to the responding officers – like a slaughterhouse. Blood was everywhere. It coated the walls and the floor. There was even some on the ceiling. The coppery smell was so thick she could taste it. As if that weren't bad enough, there were tiny pieces of what she suspected to be someone's brain scattered by the counter. She was not squeamish by nature, but she could feel the bile rise in her throat and knew that she was going to be sick. She turned her head, focusing on the only thing that wasn't covered in blood – Danny.

He looked as though he was having a similar reaction. He brought his closed fist to his mouth and momentarily held his breath. It was reassuring to know that it was not just her having such an adverse reaction to the scene. One would have to be dead not to be affected by such carnage. He also looked away, locking his eyes with hers.

She turned as Mac approached. His face was pale, ghostly, and the look in his eyes was haunted. She could tell that, even though he had been doing this for longer than both she and Danny, he was just as disturbed by the sight as they were.

"Where do you want us, Mac?" she asked, hoping that the tremor in her voice wasn't obvious. She had made some mistakes over the last few months, what with the horrors from her past resurfacing unexpectedly, and she was determined to redeem herself in the eyes of her boss. She knew it was an honor that Mac had personally selected her to work on his team. She hated the thought that she had, in some way, let him down.

Mac quickly scrutinized the two of them, almost as if he were determining whether or not they were up to the task of processing this scene. "Outside," he said after a moment of silence that seemed to last an eternity. "Stella will be in here. Hawkes and I are headed back with the bodies."

"How many are there?" Danny asked, his eyes darting around to look at the blood-smeared walls.

Mac waited a beat before responding. Lindsay thought he might be composing himself. "Nine."

"Holy shit. Mac, are you kidding me?" Danny's accent grew thicker as his voice became heavy with emotion. He took of his glasses and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

Mac said nothing about Danny's use of profanity. The scene warranted it. Lindsay would have been surprised if Danny had censored himself. "We're going to get this guy," Mac said, gesturing to the door with one gloved hand. "But I need you guys outside in order to do that. The weather's cooperating now, but you know the old saying…"

"If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes," Lindsay said with a small smile about which she immediately felt guilty. They had the same saying in Montana, as well.

"Exactly. Get to it. Don't miss anything. When we find this guy, we'll need every piece of evidence available to nail him to the wall."

Lindsay was all too happy to exit the bodega and return to the street. She didn't consider herself claustrophobic, but she couldn't imagine being in that tiny shop with all that blood and brain matter. She couldn't help but admire Stella for being able to stick it out. As soon as she was outside, she took a deep breath. The smell of blood still lingered, but it was fainter, and the fresh air – or as fresh as the air could be in New York – went a long way into calming her stomach.

She and Danny were silent for several long moments before he finally turned to face her. "You all right?"

She nodded slowly. Though the memories of the crime scene she had survived were still raw, she was beginning to deal with what had happened. Testifying at the trial had gone a long way to closing a wound that had been open for far too long. "Are you?" she asked.

He dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. "I'm fine. Just another crime scene, right?"

He was lying. She could tell. This was not just another crime scene. This was quite possibly the worst crime scene either one of them had ever had to process. And she knew that no one on the team would rest until the perpetrator was behind bars.

With that thought still in her mind, she exhaled through pursed lips and squared her shoulders. "Right, then," she said. "Let's get started."


	2. The Short End of the Stick

**A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews!!! A lot of you guys asked what was up with the initials "B" and "R" on the note. Also, people keep asking about the mystery woman with Danny. Well, you'll just have to wait and find out. :P**

**Spot the _Say Anything_ reference and win a cookie. Spot the "Firefly" reference and win a whole box of cookies. Especially since I didn't even realize it until Blue pointed it out to me.**

**Thanks again to Blue for the beta and Spunky for the gamma.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Short End of the Stick**

Flack liked it when his job was easy. For crimes like this – crimes that were so heinous it made him question all of humanity – he wanted good solid witnesses. If at all possible, lots of them. People who not only saw something but remembered what they saw. Witnesses who were reliable, who would look good in court – witnesses a jury would believe. Stories that matched. Video surveillance would be nice. Something that would lead him to a viable suspect – preferably the person who did it. As long as he had something – anything – to go on, he was a happy detective.

Today was not going to be one of those days. Today was going to be one of those not fun days where all of his hours of interviewing would yield nothing other than a bad headache.

There were no real witnesses. Everyone who had been inside the bodega had been brutally murdered. People on the sidewalk who had been walking by at the time of the attack were the only people Flack could count on to learn what happened. They weren't much help. Their accounts all started similarly. They heard gunshots and screaming. They saw a guy run out of the bodega carrying a gun. The guy shot one more person on the sidewalk and then took off running east, towards the river.

Here was where the accounts varied. No one had apparently gotten a good look at the guy. Everyone's story was different – black guy, white guy, Asian guy, short, tall, skinny, fat, bald, long hair. Some people said he had a scar. In some of the stories, he had a tattoo. More than one person had mentioned he carried a knife in addition to the gun. One woman claimed that it was Elvis who had killed all those people.

"Elvis," Flack said, nodding. He did not get paid enough. "And, uh, why – why would it be Elvis?"

"He's pissed off," said the woman. She was obviously crazy. She was one of those crazy people who looked crazy – her hair was frizzy and stuck out in all directions, none of her clothes matched, her left eye twitched, and she smelled really strongly of cats. "He doesn't like that everyone thinks he's dead. He's making a statement."

"A statement." Flack bit the inside of his cheek in order to quell the sarcastic remark that his mouth was just dying to say. He was seriously afraid that if he mouthed off to this woman, she would kill him. She could probably kill him with her mind. "What statement is that?"

The woman just stared at him. Her eye twitched. "That he's not dead."

He clenched his jaw so tightly that his teeth hurt. "So, was it skinny Elvis or fat Elvis?" The woman blinked at him, and he tried to explain. "I just want to know which one I should be looking for."

She smacked him with her purse. He really did not get paid enough.

To add insult to injury, the tiny bodega had no surveillance equipment of any kind. He and his guys had scoured the entire store, searching for a camera, and found nothing. Flack scrubbed a hand across his face. He hoped Mac's team found something, because he was coming up with nothing. He hated when that happened. It made him feel so useless. He was a homicide detective – he should be able to add something to a homicide investigation.

They were going to have to canvass the neighborhood. Canvassing the neighborhood was probably his least favorite part of an investigation. He still remembered the fat guy in his underwear who looked like he couldn't wait to eat Flack for dinner. He was just doling out instructions to his guys when he happened to glance across the street and see the ATM.

He tapped the nearest officer on the shoulder and pointed to the ATM. "Has that always been there?"

The officer just looked at him. "No, sir. They must have installed it since this morning."

"Hey," Flack said, tossing the guy a wink, "I'm the only one allowed to make smart remarks around here."

The officer turned away without answering, but Flack could've sworn the guy rolled his eyes at him. Flack furrowed his brow. He wasn't used to getting this little amount of respect from the beat cops. He didn't expect to be treated like a god; he just wanted what he was owed. He hadn't been getting it recently. Goddamn Mac. Nothing had gone right since that damn paintball case.

Muttering to himself, he jogged across the street and examined the ATM. Sure enough, there was a camera mounted above it – a camera that was pointed directly towards the bodega.

He grinned. Maybe today wasn't going to be so terrible after all.

Two hours later, as he waited in the lobby at the headquarters of the bank that owned the ATM, he realized that he had, once again, spoken too soon. He had been waiting for more than forty-five minutes to talk to the president of the bank about obtaining the footage from the camera. He hoped that flashing his badge at the girl behind the teller line would go a long way into getting him to talk to the president, but she had just clicked her tongue and told him he was going to have to wait.

Sometimes, he really hated New York.

And wait he had, in one of the most uncomfortable chairs known to man. He had already read every magazine on the little table beside him and gone through all the ringtones on his phone. He was about to storm into the president's office, protocol be damned, when the guy came out to see him.

"Mr. Flack?" he said, extending his hand. "I'm Roger Harrison, president of New York National Bank. What can I do for you today?"

Flack brandished his badge and gestured at the girl who had given him attitude. "For starters, you can fire that girl for impeding with a murder investigation."

Mr. Harrison balked. "Murder investigation? What are you talking about?"

Flack adjusted the sleeves of his button-down. Somehow, he had known that the little witch behind the counter hadn't explained the reason behind his visit. "There was a robbery/homicide near 30th and Park. The only video surveillance in the area is one of your ATMs across the street. I need the footage."

"Of course," Mr. Harrison said, who immediately began stammering out an apology. "Anything for the police department. I'll have an employee run it over as soon as we recover it."

If the girl behind the counter was a representation of the other employees at the bank, Flack wasn't about to trust them with something as sensitive as the only key piece of evidence in his multiple homicide case. He shook his head and flashed his best smile. "I'd rather wait."

* * *

Over the years, Lindsay had become rather adept at interpreting the different types of silences. It was a skill that rarely ever came in handy, but she was quite proud of it. Not many people were that intuitive as to be able to do that. 

The silence that had fallen between her and Danny as they processed the sidewalk outside of the bodega could only be described as tense. She guessed they were both on edge because of the case. At least, that was what had her so frazzled. And while she knew that the case was affecting Danny, he seemed distracted, as though he had something else on his mind. She wondered if it had anything to do with the reason he'd been late to work that morning.

She debated bringing up the subject again but decided against it. He didn't look like he was in the mood to talk, anyway.

So they processed. She took photographs – overalls, close-ups, in black and white and color – of every inch of that sidewalk. She was careful to avoid the blood as she walked up and down the pavement. When she reached the crime scene tape, she ducked under it and continued to the corner. Mac wanted them to be thorough, and thorough she would be. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to find. She noticed a couple of fibers, which she bagged. Logically, they could be from any of thousands of people who had been on that street for the past several months, but she collected them all the same. Better safe then sorry.

She glanced over at Danny. "Finding anything?"

He looked up from his position, crouched over a blood pool. He took a sample, stuck it in a vial, and tucked the vial into his kit. "Not really," he said, standing. He shifted at the waist, leaning backwards, she assumed to crack his back. "You?"

She shook her head. "A few fibers. Probably nothing probative."

He picked his way through the pools of blood to join her at the perimeter. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I found some trace, but there's no way to tell if it's from this morning, or yesterday, or six months ago." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up – more so than it already had been. "I've got to tell you, Lindsay, I don't think we're going to find anything."

She pursed her lips. "I don't think so, either. But Mac said not to miss anything."

He laughed shortly. "Oh, believe me, I didn't miss a goddamn thing. But whether or not all this shit I collected is going to make one fucking bit of difference is a completely different story."

Lindsay's eyes widened. Danny was not one to mince words, but she'd never heard him be this vulgar at a crime scene before. After hours, it was different. Once he had one or two beers in him, he would let loose a string of curse words that would make even her father blush. Something was definitely going on with him, and she knew it was something more serious than just not getting any sleep. "Okay, what's wrong?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She could tell he was lying. He generally went on the defensive when she tried to confront him about something. So she tried to keep it light. "You're extra moody today. Are you sure it isn't something that you want to talk about?"

He groaned and rolled his eyes. "I told you this morning, it's nothing. I just had a rough night."

She didn't know why she expected him to suddenly open up to her. Their relationship had been strained ever since she'd returned from Montana. Actually, things between them had been awkward for much longer than that. She'd told him, not long after the Holly case, that she needed to be by herself for a while. Truth be told, she felt she had been by herself long enough. She'd been alone for far too long. She didn't want to be alone anymore.

But she didn't know how to bring the subject up with Danny. After everything she'd put him through over the past couple of months, she wouldn't be surprised if he didn't want to be with her anymore. She was half-surprised he was still speaking to her. She knew she hadn't been the easiest person to be around.

Near the end of September, she'd received a call from the city of Bozeman, informing her that they had apprehended a suspect in a ten-year-old multiple homicide case. As the only surviving witness of the attack, her testimony was required at the trial. Until then, she had managed to keep all those residual feelings buried, but that phone call brought everything to the surface. She had retreated into herself, pushing away everyone that cared about her when they tried to reach out to her. Testifying had helped her start to put the past behind her. Now, she felt as though she was finally able to move on.

And now Danny was pushing her away.

_Okay, universe. You made your point._

"Danny," she said, but she couldn't think of a way to finish that sentence.

Instead, she cautiously reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. After a moment, he covered her hand with his own. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just want to get this son of a bitch."

She nodded, her jaw set. She wanted to nail this guy's ass to the wall as much as he did, if not more. She hated these kinds of crime scenes. She hated them more than anything. She rarely saw them, but every time, they reminded her of the horrible ordeal she had suffered through in high school. Last year, the Endecott case had her at her wit's end. She was just thankful that she and Danny had arrived at this scene after the bodies had been removed. The sight of all that blood was still chilling, but not nearly as much as it would have been had she seen the bodies. She was getting better at dealing with the memories, but she still had trouble sleeping some nights. She probably always would.

She took a deep breath and held up the camera. "Then we should probably get Stella and get this evidence back to the lab."

He smiled sheepishly and gnawed on his bottom lip. "Lead the way, Montana."

* * *

Mac liked autopsy. He didn't look forward to them, the way one would anticipate a holiday, but it was his only chance to really get to know the victim. Or in this case, victims. He would absorb every detail Sid told him – their scars, their tattoos – in an attempt to learn as much as he could about them before he set out to find their killers. It sometimes helped to motivate him if the victim was more than just a faceless identity. Also, the whole process of investigating crime scenes was hectic, chaotic. Everything moved at such a fast pace, because there was often a time limit on their evidence. Autopsy was a chance to breathe, to collect his thoughts before he buried himself under mountains of evidence. 

This autopsy, however, was one he was definitely not anticipating. There were rarely ever this many corpses in autopsy at once, let alone all on the same case. Sid had asked for as much help as he could muster to assist him. He had apparently called in a great deal of favors. Peyton gave Mac a shy wave when he entered the morgue with Hawkes. Even Marty Pino, who usually worked nights, had crawled out of bed to lend a hand. Medical examiners were everywhere, bustling around, trying to stay out of each other's way. For once, autopsy was just as chaotic as the rest of the crime lab.

Mac preferred it the other way.

He and Hawkes approached the first table, where Sid was waiting for them. He removed his glasses and let them hang around his neck. "My day started out well," Sid said, leaning forward to examine the Y-incision he'd already performed. "I woke up early. I had a good breakfast. And then I come here, and all hell breaks loose." He glanced up at Mac. "I blame you."

Mac raised an eyebrow. "Sorry to ruin your day."

Sid shrugged. "Can't really complain. These people had a far worse day than I did."

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we, Sid?" Mac asked, nodding at the body on the slab before them. "COD?"

"Close contact gunshot wound," Sid said. "They all suffered the same cause of death, though preliminary examination reveals that the shooter was at a different distance for each victim."

"Probably indicates their location in the bodega," Hawkes said.

Sid furrowed his brow, obviously confused. Mac explained. "There were smears in the blood on the floor. It looked like some of the bodies had been moved before we got there. What else can you tell us?"

"Not much, I'm afraid." Sid reattached his glasses and gently picked up the first victim's arm. Mac stared at the victim – a young boy who looked to be no older than fifteen. He looked a little like Reed, Claire's son. Mac's stomach clenched painfully. "This is Nicholas Cooper. He was shot to death, like the others, but I only extracted one bullet from his abdomen."

Mac looked up. "And that's odd how?"

Sid cocked his head to the side. "He was only shot once – right through the heart, point blank range. The bullet nicked his aorta and lodged in his esophagus."

"And the others?" asked Hawkes.

"Multiple gunshot wounds – at least two each. One of the victims, a young lady whose identity has yet to be confirmed, would have survived any of her wounds. It was the combination of the three of them that killed her. She bled out."

Mac's eyes drifted off towards the side as he considered this information. If some of the victims didn't die immediately, it could explain the unusual blood trails they'd found at the scene.

Hawkes voiced the same thing he had just been thinking. "That's probably where the smears in the blood came from. They were pointed towards the counter, where the phone was. She must have tried to call for help."

"Were you able to confirm time of death?" Mac asked.

Sid nodded. "They all died at approximately the same time – 11:30 this morning."

Hawkes turned to face Mac. "Eyewitnesses claim they heard the gunshots around the same time."

"Do you have the bullets?"

Sid used his head to gesture towards a row of evidence envelopes, all labeled and sealed in the medical examiner's immaculate cursive. "Only a few of the rounds were in any kind of usable condition. Several of them bounced off rib bones, damaging the bullets. But everything we pulled from the bodies is over there."

Mac nodded slowly, then went over to collect the envelopes. "Hawkes, you stay here with Sid. I'm going to take these back to the lab and get started." He pointed to Sid. "I want copies of all your reports when you're finished."

Sid's eyes widened. He looked taken aback by the insinuation. "Of course."

* * *

They were bogged down with evidence. Danny didn't think they had ever processed this much evidence on one case. Of course, he couldn't remember this large of a body count at a single scene before. Nine victims – it was mind-boggling. Even Henry Darius had only killed seven teenagers at the Endecott place last year. There was a certain sense of urgency when they arrived back at the lab. Mac and Hawkes were still in autopsy, but Stella took control and immediately doled out responsibilities. She took the trace she'd collected inside the bodega, Lindsay was to work on the fibers collected outside on the sidewalk, and Danny was given the job of running through all the fingerprints. 

He had definitely gotten the short end of the stick. There were several dozen fingerprints to scan and enter into the computer, and only one print could be run through the system at a time. Danny would be running prints the rest of the day, and probably all of the next day as well. Matching prints in the database wasn't an instantaneous process. It sometimes took hours just to come up with one match.

Also, the fingerprint lab was across the hall from the trace lab, where Lindsay and Stella were busy working. Every time Danny glanced up from the computer, his eyes were drawn to Lindsay. The simplest actions had him riveted. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and his fingers itched to do it as well. She stretched to ease her tired muscles, and all his blood ran south. She leaned over to examine something more closely, and it took all his willpower not to see if he could sneak a peek down her shirt.

It only took him about ten minutes to realize that this was not going to work. So he left the print to run by itself and made his way towards the locker room to take a shower – a nice, cold one. He hadn't gotten the opportunity to shower this morning, and he was starting to feel grungy. Plus, he just needed the cold water. He was once again have less than platonic thoughts about his partner, and it was either a cold shower or a quick jerk in the bathroom – which he had learned early on was not a good idea. A guy only needed Mac walking on him once to never do that again.

The locker room was empty, but Danny wasn't surprised. He grabbed his change of clothes out of his locker and headed for the showers. He chose the one all the way on the end – the one with the shitty water pressure – because he knew no one would fight him for it, in the event the other showers got full up. He was free to take as long as he wanted; those fingerprints weren't going anywhere.

The first blast of icy water was a baptism. It cleared the cobwebs from his brain. Last night was still a blur – shotglasses and skin, mostly. Some aspects of the evening were still fuzzy – like why they had gone to her place, all the way uptown. His was closer to the bar. Or why he had suggested they do tequila shots when he knew he couldn't handle tequila. Other aspects were all too clear. He distinctly remembered suggesting their late night activities. He also remembered the look on her face when he suggested it. Danny never wanted to forget anything more than he wanted to forget that look he had put on her face.

Nevertheless, she had agreed. He wondered why. They'd decided, a long time ago, that their mutually beneficial arrangement was no longer mutually beneficial – that it was starting to get too complicated, and it was best if they cut the sex part out of their relationship. And it worked, for the most part. They'd only slipped once, on her birthday. But for nearly a year, they were able to just stay friends – without the 'benefits'. Their reasons remained unspoken, but he suspected hers had to do with the guy she ended up dating about three weeks after they stopped sleeping together. His reasons, of course, all revolved around his fast-developing feelings for the plucky, no-nonsense import from Montana.

And then… Then Lindsay had gone undercover and everything had gone to hell. He realized, as he sat in the van only able to listen as she risked her life, that he was in love with her. And he knew, when he saw her in the cloud of dust, alive and unharmed, that he had been in love with her for a long time. He had never been in love before, but he assumed that was what this unfamiliar feeling in the pit of his chest was – this all-consuming ache that threatened to cripple him, the overwhelming desire to curl up beside her and hold on for dear life. God help him, but he was in love with Lindsay Monroe.

But after she stood him up, after she gave him hope and then snatched it away, after she told him that she liked him – a lot – but she couldn't be in a relationship with him, his heart shattered. He usually had girls scrambling to go out on dates with him – being stood up was a new experience. He tried to talk to her, convince her that he just wanted to spend time with her, that he didn't want a relationship with her. He did – he wanted everything and more – but he would gladly suffer through the hell of being just friends if it meant getting to see her every day. But she left him standing in the hallway, his heart on his sleeve, and walked away from him.

He waited to see if Lindsay would come around, to see if whatever was frightening her so badly – which he now knew to be her attack, back in Montana – would go away so that they could be together. But the longer he waited, the less hopeful he got, until finally he just couldn't take it anymore. And then she left for Montana, and she didn't say goodbye in person. He watched, tears in his eyes, as she hugged Mac and Stella and then walked past him without even noticing.

She left him a card. And she signed it 'Montana'. He smiled, and he felt his chest swell with hope again. So he anxiously waited for her to return. He called her a couple times a week, to check on her, and also to hear the sound of her voice. They spoke for hours on the phone, and their conversations were the highlight of his week. He assumed, once she came back, that they could pick up where they left off.

Unfortunately, they did. And where they left off was not a damn thing happening. He wanted to ask her out again as soon as he saw her, but he refrained. He didn't want to push her into something she may not be ready for. So he waited as long as he could, about three weeks, and then he asked her to dinner. She turned him down, saying that she still wasn't ready.

And in a moment of weakness, he resurrected the arrangement.

He rested his forehead against the tile and took a deep breath. One of these days, his self-destructive behavior was going to catch up with him. He just hoped it wasn't today.

When his skin became numb to the water, he shut it off. He remained in the shower a few more moments, letting his body drip dry, before he toweled off and got dressed. He ran his fingers through his still wet hair as he meandered through the hallways and back to the fingerprint lab, where to his surprise, the computer screen was blinking.

_Match found._

He raised his eyebrows. That had to be a record. He sat down and typed his clearance in the window that had popped up, trying to open the file.

_Access denied._

Danny frowned. That was odd. He entered his clearance again, thinking he had mistyped – wouldn't be the first time. But again, he was denied. He tried once more, and this time, another message appeared.

_Records sealed. DIRUS0291. Must be GS-14 or above to access file._

"GS-14?" Danny said to no one in particular, as he was the only one in the room. That was a pretty high clearance. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and hit number two on the speed dial. He didn't even wait for the person on the other end to speak before he started talking. "Hey, it's me. Listen, something came up during a fingerprint search that I think you should know about."


	3. On a Mission

**A/N: You guys are so sweet! I'm honored to see such an interest in this fic!  
**

**To clear up some confusion introduced in the last chapter, GS is short for General Schedule. It's a payscale. Your level has nothing to do with anything except how much money you get paid. According to wikipedia, "General Schedule is the name used to describe a payscale utilized by the majority of white collar personnel in the civil service of the United States government." The scale goes from GS-00 to GS-15, with 13-15 being top level employees. My mother works for the government – she's a GS-11.**

**In "A Man a Mile" (102) and "Outside Man" (107), Mac mentions that Danny is approaching his three years. So it's logical to assume that early in season three he would have been approaching five years, and now he's getting close to six. (I am ignoring "On the Job" (121), when Mac says he hired him five years ago.)**

**Thanks go again to my wonderful beta, Blue, and my awesome gamma, Spunky.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Three: On a Mission**

The lab instruments were conspiring against Lindsay. She was certain of it. Nothing seemed to want to work for her. The microscope wouldn't focus just right; the GCMS refused to give her results that she could use. She had been staring at the same fiber for the past twenty minutes, and the only thing she had succeeded in discovering was that there was a hole in her right sock, somewhere around her pinky toe. Fat lot of good that did her, though, except for alerting her to the fact that she needed new socks.

She leaned back, her eyes drifting towards the ceiling. She had a splitting headache from looking through a microscope for too long, and her vision was starting to blur. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. She found her gaze being drawn across the hall, to where Danny was running fingerprints. He'd disappeared for a while, returned with wet hair, and immediately gotten on the phone. She assumed he was calling Mac to let him know that he'd gotten a match, but he talked to the person on the other end for quite a while – longer than he would if he were just informing Mac of a match.

She narrowed her eyes. She'd be damned if she let him find something before she did. She went back to the microscope. There had to be something about this fiber that was helpful – that would lead them to a suspect. If the GCMS wouldn't cooperate, she'd go with something else. She crossed the lab to her kit and rummaged through it until she found her ALS light. She switched it on and held it over the fiber, hoping for something – anything.

It glowed.

"Ah ha!" she exclaimed, practically dancing in excitement. There was something on that fiber, which meant there was probably DNA. She stuck the fiber back under the microscope and, using her exactoknife, cut a tiny sliver to send to Adam. They wouldn't know the results for a few hours, but at least she hadn't just wasted twenty minutes analyzing a piece of evidence that wouldn't yield anything viable.

She kept her eyes on Danny as she left the trace lab, only turning away when she rounded the corner on her way to DNA. As she approached Adam's lair, she noticed that Stella was already in there, and she did not look happy. Lindsay slowed her pace, wondering if she wanted to walk in on whatever was going on in there. Having been on the receiving end of Stella's outbursts before, she wasn't anxious to interrupt. However, she also knew that whatever Stella was angry about was not Adam's fault.

She cleared her throat as she entered, announcing her presence. She ignored the death glare Stella shot her way and handed the evidence envelope to Adam, who looked ready to flee. "Got something for DNA," she said, smiling sweetly.

Adam cautiously took the envelope from her, staring at her as though he expected her to bite his head off. He peeked inside. "What is it?"

Lindsay clenched her teeth. She didn't want to answer that question – partly because she wanted out of that room and partly because she wasn't entirely sure what it was. "That's not important. What is important is the DNA that's on it."

Adam sighed and nodded towards the stack of envelopes beside his computer. "I'm kind of backed up here…"

"Just get to it when you can," Lindsay said, her smile frozen in place. "Page me when you get the results."

She left without waiting for a response, eager to get as far away from Stella before the woman exploded. Unfortunately, Stella followed her into the hallway. "Lindsay!"

For a split second, Lindsay debated if she could get away with pretending she hadn't heard Stella call her name. But it would not be wise to antagonize her when she was already upset, so Lindsay halted mid-stride and turned to face her. "What's up, Stell?"

Stella raised her eyebrows and folded her slender arms across her chest. "Are you going to tell me what you found out about that fiber? Or am I going to have to guess?"

Lindsay bit back a sigh. She'd been afraid of that. She jammed her hands into her pockets and nodded slowly. "It's a synthetic black fiber – the kind found in car upholstery. But I don't have a make or model yet, because it lit up under the ALS. I figured DNA was more important in leading us to a suspect – at least right now. I was about to head back and see if I could narrow our vehicle search down a bit."

Stella stared at her for a moment, and Lindsay averted her eyes, uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gaze. After what felt like an eternity, Stella did the last thing Lindsay expected her to do. She smiled. "You could probably use a break, huh? Take ten minutes, get a cup of coffee. Fresh eyes will help when you go back to that fiber."

Then she turned and walked away.

Lindsay stood in the hallway for a while. There were any number of reasons Stella could have suggested she take a break. One was that Lindsay's eyes were becoming rather tired after gazing down a microscope all afternoon, and it would be more helpful, when she went back to the fiber, if she'd given her eyes a chance to rest. Another reason was that Stella wasn't confident in Lindsay's ability to handle a case like this.

As she made her way to the break room, Lindsay wondered if she were right.

* * *

"You got a match?" Mac asked, poking his head through the doorway of the print lab. His voice was eager, amazed. Danny glanced over from his spot at the computer, where he was currently awaiting results on another print. He imagined that Mac, like the rest of them, was anxious to start generating a suspect list. "Already?" 

Danny nodded, bringing his eyes back to the computer screen. He hated being the bearer of bad news. This wasn't exactly considered bad, but it was hardly what could be called good, and Mac would surely find some way to blame him for it. "Yeah, but it won't do us any good. File's sealed."

Mac cocked his head to the side, obviously confused. "Just enter in your clearance. It should unlock the file."

"I already did," Danny mumbled, running a hand through his hair. Did Mac seriously think he hadn't thought of that? "Didn't work."

"It didn't work?" Mac repeated, incredulous. He made his way over to the computer and leaned over Danny's shoulder.

Something about Mac looking over his shoulder always made Danny feel like a rookie, even though he was coming up on six years with the lab. The man just had a way of making him nervous, as though he was just waiting for Danny to screw up. And screw up Danny had – on more than one occasion – which was why he was anxious to not do so again. He entered his passcode into the computer, only to again be denied access to file.

"See, Mac?" he asked, gesturing at the screen as though it wasn't completely obvious. "I told you."

"Are you sure you're typing it in right?" Mac asked, furrowing his brow, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He learned early on that rolling his eyes at Mac had very bad consequences. Also, the gravity of this case and the fact that Mac had just come from autopsy served to have the man on edge – more so than usual. Danny did not want to be the one to push him over. "I tried it six times already. It won't open."

Mac sighed heavily and motioned that Danny should get out of the chair, which he did. The men switched places, with Mac sitting in front of the computer and Danny standing behind him. But when Danny leaned forward to gaze at the screen over Mac's shoulder, Mac shot him a look. Danny retreated back several steps, straining to read the monitor from where he stood.

_Access denied. Records sealed. DIRUS0291. Must be GS-14 or above to access file._

Mac turned to look at Danny, who could only shrug. He had never heard of anything like this before. In all his years as a CSI, he had never encountered sealed records before. He was also rather shocked to find that Mac also did not have high enough clearance to access the file either. That left them with very few options, considering that Mac had the highest clearance of anyone at the lab. He had the highest rank and had been there the longest, and if he couldn't unseal the records, there was really only one option. But Danny knew that Mac wasn't going to like it one bit.

Danny coughed. "Um, Mac…" He pursed his lips, wondering if there was a delicate way to phrase this. He had to be very careful. "You know who's above a GS-14?"

Mac narrowed his eyes and typed in his clearance again. "No." The same message popped up. Mac entered his passcode again.

Danny clenched his jaw so tightly that it hurt. Mac tended to be a pretty reasonable guy – most of the time – but this was one subject that hit a sore spot. Danny rubbed the back of his neck and tried again. "We really don't have any other – "

"I said no." Mac was again denied access to the file. "I think this keyboard is broken."

"It's not the keyboard," Danny said, letting his frustration creep into his voice. He tried to tone it down, in front of Mac, but he hated being treated like he didn't know what he was doing. "You're a, what, GS-12? I'm only a 9. We need someone with a higher clearance, and the only person I can think of who would even help us is – "

"She won't help us, Danny," Mac snapped.

Danny bit the inside of his cheek. He knew he shouldn't say what he was about to say, but he was going to anyway. "Maybe she won't help you…"

The glare Mac shot his way was enough to shut his mouth. Danny offered a halfhearted smile as an apology and took another few steps back. He was getting out of the line of fire.

"Look, Mac, all I'm saying is that we've got to unlock these records. I can't do it. You can't do it. She can. You want to get the guy who did this, you're gonna have to suck it up and ask for her help."

Mac tugged on his earlobe. "Which print is this, do you know?"

Danny again resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he knew. He wasn't in the habit of running random prints. "One of the ones Stella lifted from the counter."

"Could be nothing," Mac suggested, though his voice was hardly convincing.

"Could be," Danny said, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Could be the case breaker."

When Mac remained silent, regarding him with a raised eyebrow, Danny spoke again. "If you want, I could go ask her."

Mac stood up from the chair so abruptly that it slid across the floor. "Absolutely not." He exhaled loudly through his nose, glancing around the room, as though looking for an out. "I'll go."

Danny cocked an eyebrow. "You sure?" Mac just shot him a look, and Danny held up his hands in a gesture of concession. "All right. Just asking."

Mac shook his head and stalked out of the room. Danny waited until he was absolutely sure he was gone before pulling out his phone once more. He hit 'send' twice, again not waiting for the person on the other end to speak before he started talking. "It's me again. You're not gonna like this…"

* * *

Flack whistled as he made his way through the crime lab, carrying three days' worth of tapes from the ATM. He had to wait forever for the bank manager to pull it up, but it would be worth it if they could ID the suspect from the footage. He was on his way to the A/V lab when he noticed Mac walking towards him, looking like a man on a mission. Flack couldn't quite explain why, but he felt the sudden need to step out of his way. 

"Flack," Mac grunted, slowing to a stop. "I need you to come uptown with me."

Flack furrowed his brow, clutching the ATM footage tightly under his arm. "You afraid you're gonna get lost or something?"

The look that Mac shot him silenced Flack. He gave an uncomfortable cough and nodded. "Sure. Just let me drop this off at the – "

"Now."

Flack straightened, drawing himself to his full height. Mac may have been with the NYPD longer, but Flack did not work for him. Mac had no authority to order him around, and Flack was starting to get irritated with Mac's treatment of him of late. He had done nothing to deserve it, and he didn't appreciate it. "You know what, Mac? It can wait. I don't trust anyone else to handle this evidence." He held up the bag containing the surveillance tapes.

Mac sighed and jerked his head in the direction of the A/V lab. "Fine. Make it quick."

Flack took his sweet time, just to piss Mac off. And Mac certainly was in a foul mood by the time Flack made it back to him. The ride down to the ground floor seemed to take an eternity as both men leaned against their respective sides of the elevator, arms folded. Flack led the way to his car, parked just inside the garage, and the ride to whatever their destination was passed in absolute silence. The only words spoken the entire trip were when Mac would tell Flack where to turn. He refused to even say where they were headed.

So Flack was more than a little surprised when Mac told him to park in front of the New York headquarters of the FBI.

"Mac, the FBI? Are you kidding me?"

Mac didn't respond. He simply climbed out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Flack scrambled after him, remembering to lock the doors. "Why are you bringing them into this? They have no jurisdiction over this case. It's local, all the way. Nothing to suggest otherwise."

"Nothing except the fingerprint Stella lifted off the counter," Mac said, quickly crossing the street.

Flack stopped in the middle of the street and nearly got clipped by a bike messenger. He hurried after Mac. "What are you talking about?" Oh, how he loved being kept out of the loop on a murder investigation.

"Danny got a hit on one of the fingerprints," Mac explained as the two ambled up the multitude of steps in front of the building. "The records are sealed, and no one in the lab has the clearance to unlock the file."

Flack couldn't help but laugh at that. So there was something the great Mac Taylor couldn't do? Would wonders never cease? He ignored the dirty look Mac sent his way and shook his head, still chuckling. "So, what, you think anyone in the Bureau is going to just help, no questions asked?"

Before Mac could answer, if he even was going to, they reached the doors. Flack had never been inside FBI headquarters before, having only worked with the Bureau a handful of times over the years. If the building itself hadn't intimidated him – it had to be at least thirty stories and was completely made of glass, reflecting the sky and making it seem much larger than it probably was – the lobby would have. It was cavernous and nearly empty, save for several white benches and a small, circular reception desk near the back wall.

Two burly security guards stood just inside the doors, flanking a metal detector. Flack and Mac produced their badges and emptied their pockets into the baskets provided. The guards examined their firearms before waving them on. Their footsteps echoed as the made their way to the desk, behind which sat a matronly old woman who reminded Flack of his grandmother.

Both men again brandished their badges as they approached, holding them out for the woman to see. She leaned forward slightly, the better to see them.

"State your business here," she said as she sat back in the chair. She handed Mac a clipboard and a pen.

"I'm Detective Taylor," Mac explained as he signed his name and passed the clipboard to Flack. "This is Detective Flack. We're from the NYPD. We're here to see Special Agent McQueen."

Flack could not be sure, but it looked as though the receptionist gave them a pitying look. Flack quickly scribbled his name and handed back the clipboard. She pointed to the elevators. "Third floor. Take a left, then a right, and it's the sixth door on the right." She turned away from them to replace the clipboard, and as they walked away, Flack could have sworn that she muttered, "Good luck," under her breath.

The third floor was a little more Flack's style. It resembled an office building – a hallway lit by fluorescent lighting, a single window at the end. Doors lined both sides of the hall, the spacing indicating that the rooms behind those doors weren't very large. There were plaques on each door, emblazoned with the name of the agent who occupied that office. Flack followed Mac until they found the office they were looking for. The brass plaque on the door read 'Terra McQueen'.

Mac rapped his knuckles lightly on the door, which was slightly ajar. Without waiting for a response, he entered the room.

He had barely stepped over the threshold when the water balloon that had been balanced on top of the door broke on his head, completely soaking him. Flack clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter and wished he could see Mac's face.

A woman's voice said, "Will that teach you to enter a room without being invited?"

"Don't you think you're a little old for practical jokes?" Mac asked, stepping further into the office so that Flack could see the woman behind the desk. She looked familiar, but Flack couldn't figure out from where. She had long black hair that was pulled back in a ponytail, and her eyes were hidden behind a pair of red glasses.

"My father is sixty-two years old," she said, "and the last time I went home, as soon as I stepped through the door, I was covered in a pound of flour. He thought it was hysterical. I was sneezing flour for a week."

"What if I had been your supervisor?" The condescension in Mac's voice was so thick, Flack could have cut it with a knife.

The woman, whom Flack assumed was Terra McQueen, cocked an eyebrow and dropped her gaze to the legal pad in her lap. "Then you would have laughed, because unlike you, she has a sense of humor." She glanced up, apparently just noticing Flack. "Oh. You brought a friend. Afraid to come see me by yourself?"

Flack raised his arm in a pathetic attempt at a wave. "I'm Detective – "

"Flack," she finished. "Yes, I know." She must have caught his incredulous look, because she said, "I read the papers. Now, was there a purpose for this visit, or were you just in the neighborhood and thought you'd drop by?"

Mac sighed heavily. "There's a purpose."

She smiled and leaned back in her chair, propping her feet on the desk. Flack could not help but notice her shoes – thick-soled gray shoes with lighter gray patches at the heels and toes. The realization almost bowled him over.

The girl from the diner was sitting right in front of him.

Terra clasped her hands behind her head. "I'm listening."


	4. Terra

**A/N: I love you guys! Your continued reviews make me happy. I cannot tell you how glad I am that so many people like this fic. **

**Pay attention in this chapter! Some of your questions are finally answered.**

**I think it's safe to say that this fic has officially crossed into AU territory. If you haven't seen the shipper squee-fest that is episode 318, you MUST see it! Go to my YouTube, where I have the clips posted! But yeah, obviously, this fic isn't going to follow the CANON established by that episode. CANON. CANON!!!!**

**Special thanks go to Sparkles for the correct Portuguese translations. The Italian and Greek translations come from the Alta Vista Babel Fish translator. It really isn't necessary to know what the translations are, but if you really want to know, you can ask. **

**As always, many thanks to Blue for the beta and Spunky for the gamma. I only rewrote this chapter half a dozen times.**

* * *

**Chapter Four: Terra**

Flack could only stare. The girl from the diner was the FBI agent who was supposed to help them? He had to be hallucinating. She looked completely different from the woman he had seen earlier that day – aside from the hair and glasses, she was also wearing a different outfit – but he would have recognized those shoes anywhere. She'd sadly changed out of the tight, semi-revealing clothing from that morning and into a more professional pantsuit, but the black pants and suit jacket were still form-fitting, and the tank top she wore underneath the jacket revealed just a hint of the lace of her bra when she moved.

He bit his lip until he tasted blood, hoping to squash the sudden wave of desire that threatened to overwhelm him. He forced himself to focus on Terra and Mac's conversation.

"It's complicated," Mac said, and Flack could almost see the veins in his forehead throbbing. He wondered what the problem was.

Terra cocked an eyebrow. "I have a Ph.D. I can do complicated." She regarded Mac over the top of her glasses for a moment before her face dissolved into a grin. "You need my help."

Mac coughed and said nothing. Flack raised his eyebrows and felt the corners of his lips quirk upwards. He was enjoying seeing Mac almost squirm. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the man so uncomfortable.

"You need my help," Terra said again, laughing. "Unbelievable. The high and mighty NYPD needs the help of the little old FBI? I never thought I'd live to see the day." She leaned forward and started rummaging around in one of her desk drawers, providing Flack an almost unobstructed view down the front of her shirt. "Let me get my camera. I need to document this moment for posterity. Mac Taylor asking me for help. It must be one of the signs of the apocalypse."

"Agent McQueen," Mac said, and Flack didn't miss the warning tone his voice had taken, "you're being unprofessional."

She narrowed her eyes and dropped her feet to the ground. "Well, you could just try to have me fired again."

Flack pursed his lips, almost whistling. There was a lot of bitterness between these two. Terra's earlier joke – that Mac was afraid to come see her alone – seemed to have more merit than he'd originally believed. Now he understood why Mac had practically forced him to come along.

"But if I was fired," Terra murmured thoughtfully, tapping her lips with one finger, "I couldn't help you. So in the interest of saving time, why don't you just tell me what it is you want?"

Mac exhaled loudly through his nose. "We need your clearance."

Terra shook her head. "Using a girl for her clearance, Taylor? If you're not careful, I might develop a complex."

"It's for a case," Mac explained, looking to Flack for help. Flack held up his hands, indicating that he was not about to get involved in whatever private battle existed between the two of them. Besides, he had absolutely no idea what Mac was talking about, since no one felt the need to include the homicide detective in on the investigation.

"I gathered that. I hardly think you'd need my clearance for anything in your personal life – assuming you have one, of course."

Mac visibly bristled, and Flack took the opportunity to take a look around Terra's office. It was small – only about half the size of his bedroom – windowless, and crammed full of stuff. The desk behind which Terra sat took up a majority of the space, and the rest of it was occupied by several tall bookshelves. Each bookcase was overflowing with books. Flack scanned some of the titles – _Advanced Japanese, The History of the English Language, Understanding Sanskrit, Learn Latin in 30 Days_. A glance at the diplomas on the wall behind her desk confirmed his theory – she was a linguist. He examined the diplomas more closely; she had apparently gotten her bachelor's, her master's, and her doctorate at NYU.

"It's time sensitive material," Mac said, and Flack could hear his teeth grinding.

Terra raised her eyebrows. "Then it might be a good idea if you told me what it was. Despite my assertions to the contrary, I am not a mind reader."

"Now is not the time for jokes," Mac grunted. "Nine people are dead."

Terra's smile faded, her whole demeanor sobering in an instant. "You're on the bodega case?"

"You heard about that?" Flack asked, and both Terra and Mac turned to look at him, as though they had forgotten he was there. He didn't know why he was surprised; they were both wrapped up in their own little world.

Terra nodded, her eyes sad. "A crime like that… Word gets around." She looked at Mac. "What do you need?"

"We got a match to one of the prints we lifted from the counter," Mac told her.

"Sounds like you've got a good starting off point," Terra said. "I'm not sure what I can do to help."

"The records are sealed."

Flack's ears perked. This was as much as he knew, too.

Terra pursed her lips. "This is why you need my clearance?" Mac nodded, and Terra used one finger to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "That may present a problem."

Flack furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"There are any number of explanations why a file could be sealed," Terra said. "Witness protection, political refugees, undercover agents… I can't just unlock the records without knowing exactly what I'm dealing with. They're sealed for a reason." She swiveled around in her chair to face the computer, which Flack just now noticed under a stack of file folders. "What's the file name?"

Flack looked expectantly at Mac, eager to know to whom the mysterious print belonged. In all likelihood, unsealing the file would lead to an arrest, and though Flack's phone had remained suspiciously silent all day, he knew it would soon start ringing repeatedly. Whenever Flack caught a major case, the sheriff called him every five minutes, asking for an update. He did not want to tell the sheriff that he had no idea what was going on with the investigation.

Mac pulled his notepad out of his back pocket and consulted it. "DIRUS0291."

Terra dropped her head to her desk so abruptly that Flack winced from the dull thunk her forehead made against the wood. "_Foda-se_," she said.

Flack scrunched up his nose in confusion. He glanced over at Mac, who looked just as bewildered as he did. "Um, excuse me?" He couldn't even begin to think what language she'd just spoken.

But Terra didn't answer. She slammed her hands down with a groan and stood up. She quickly gathered up her belongings, tossing them haphazardly in her purse, muttering to herself in a different language. It sounded similar to the one she'd just spoken, but Flack couldn't be sure, since he couldn't really hear her.

"You drove?" she asked suddenly, her gaze locked on Mac. Flack almost flinched from the look in her eyes.

Flack held up a finger. "I did."

Terra nodded thoughtfully. "Shotgun." And she pushed past the two men and was out in the hallway before Flack could say anything more.

* * *

Lindsay sat in her office, surrounded by a dozen manuals from auto manufacturers. She was trying to determine a make and model from the fiber she'd been running earlier. Adam had yet to get back to her with the results from the DNA, but she wasn't expecting him to page her anytime soon. He had a lot of evidence to work through, and until she figured out exactly what she was dealing with, her mystery fiber wasn't top priority. Unfortunately, that left her back where she had started – staring at the fiber. 

She scrubbed a hand over her face. If she didn't find something soon, she'd start seeing double. Frustrated beyond imagination, she used a little more force than necessary to shut the manual she was paging through. It took an extraordinary amount of self-restraint not to hurl the offending book across the lab.

There was a knock on the glass. She glanced up and found Hawkes leaning against the doorjamb, regarding her with raised eyebrows. "Are you okay?" he asked, the concern evident in his tone.

Lindsay smiled grimly. "Did you ever have one of those days when you just want to be able to snap your fingers and all your evidence is processed, and the guilty party is just in jail?"

Hawkes cocked his head to the side, his eyes searching. "All the time. But unfortunately, we have to invest the time and energy to find and process the evidence before the guilty party is punished."

She nodded. "I know. It's just…" She trailed off, clenching her fingers tightly to hide the fact that her hands were suddenly shaking. A case this gruesome – this horrifying – all she wanted was a speedy end to it. The longer it took to uncover the truth, the more it was going to eat at her.

"It's only been a day, Lindsay," Hawkes said, folding his arms across his chest. "Even God needed six to create the world."

She offered a tiny laugh, grudgingly admitting that Hawkes had a point. They still had a job to do, and it was unrealistic to expect miracles after only a day. She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded. When Hawkes remained motionless in the doorway, she furrowed her brow. "Was there something you needed?"

"Mac called," he said, rubbing his chin. "He wants everyone to assemble in his office."

Lindsay cocked an eyebrow. "Did he say why?"

Hawkes shook his head, and Lindsay bit her lip. She secured the fiber in a new evidence bag and followed Hawkes down the hall, wondering why Mac wanted to see everyone. There was either a major break or a huge wrench in the case. That could be the only explanation.

The others were already in Mac's office when Lindsay and Hawkes arrived. Stella was pacing behind the desk, completely ignoring Adam, who was standing in a corner nervously chewing on his nails, and Danny, who was leaning against the glass by the door. Lindsay shyly took the spot on Danny's left, standing as close to him as she dared while still appearing casual. Her arm brushed against his as she rested her weight on the glass wall, and he looked at her, flashing her a grin.

Lindsay's eyes were drawn back to Stella. She nodded in her general direction and leaned closer to Danny, lowering her voice. "What's wrong with Stella?"

Danny leaned forward, almost whispering in her ear. "I think she has a good idea of what Mac is going to tell us."

"Which is?"

He licked his lips and shook his head. "No clue."

But she could tell he was lying. He wouldn't look her in the eye. She was just debating calling him out on it when Flack walked through the door. He was followed by Mac and a woman Lindsay didn't recognize. She scrutinized the mystery woman and noticed a badge attached to her hip. Something else Lindsay noticed was the way Danny stiffened suddenly beside her, and the way Stella's eyes hardened. Lindsay swallowed. She had a feeling that whatever Mac was going to say was not going to be good.

"Special Agent Terra McQueen," Mac said, "this is Doctor Sheldon Hawkes, Detective Lindsay Monroe…" Mac trailed off as he caught sight of Adam, still huddled in the corner. "…and Adam Ross. You know Stella and Danny."

Terra nodded, glancing briefly at Stella before casting her eyes in Lindsay and Danny's direction. She opened her mouth to say something, but Stella spoke first. "Isn't there a supply closet you should be in?"

Danny coughed, as though he was trying to hide laughter. Terra narrowed her eyes. "If you have something to say to me, Bonasera, just come out and say it."

Stella clenched her jaw. Lindsay could see the muscles twitch. "Σκύλα," Stella growled.

Terra raised her eyebrows. "Μιλήστε αυτού πάλι," she said, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her slacks.

"Since when do you speak Greek?" Stella asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Terra just smiled in response. Lindsay looked at Danny, hoping to gain a little bit of insight into what was going on. She could tell, from his posture, that he was not thrilled about the situation. He was tense, holding his body stiffly; he seemed uncomfortable.

"All right," Mac said, moving over to Stella and holding out a hand, as though to prevent her from moving towards Terra, "I know there are some underlying issues here, but we have a job to do." He looked at Stella. "Like it or not, we need Agent McQueen's help."

"Special Agent," Terra mumbled, scuffing her toe on the floor.

"The print I lifted," Danny said, and everyone turned to look at him, "you found out why the file is sealed?"

Flack and Mac both looked at Terra, who sighed and rocked back on her heels. "The file name that Taylor gave me isn't actually a file name. It's a code, assigned by the international relations department of the FBI. It explains why the file is locked."

Danny groaned and rolled his eyes. "Don't leave me in suspense here, Terra."

She licked her lips. "Where exactly did you lift the print?"

This time it was Stella who groaned. "From the counter, on top of the blood spatter. Whoever left it is our prime suspect. And why exactly is this relevant?"

Terra removed her glasses, folded them, and slid them in her front pocket. "Because your 'prime suspect' has diplomatic immunity."

There was a moment of silence, during which Lindsay couldn't breathe. If what Terra was saying were true, this case was about to get a lot more complicated.

"Get out of here," Danny said. "You kidding me?"

"I don't joke about diplomatic immunity," Terra said, crossing her arms. "And I hope you've got another suspect, because there is no way in hell that you can bring this person in."

"This is ridiculous," Stella said, throwing her arms up in frustration. "Are you telling me this guy is going to get away with this?"

Terra's eyes flashed dangerously, and she held up one finger. "First of all, one fingerprint does not an arrest make, and it's the only thing tying this guy to the scene. Bring me a murder weapon, and I'll see what I can do, but until then, you shouldn't make assumptions." She held up a second finger. "Second of all, you're preaching to the choir. I am one of the most outspoken advocates against diplomatic immunity."

Danny snorted, and Lindsay looked at him. "Don't you have immunity?"

"What's your point?" Terra said.

"And I do believe you've used yours to your advantage."

Terra bristled. "Getting out of traffic violations on my trip to Europe is not the same thing as killing nine people, and I don't appreciate the comparison. Now could someone direct me to this damn print so I can figure out who the hell we're dealing with?"

Lindsay raised her eyebrows. She was beginning to see why everyone was so tense. She'd only known Terra a few minutes, and Lindsay already had figured out that she was not a person to be crossed. Danny cleared his throat and hauled himself off the window. "Yeah. I'll, uh… I'll take you to the print lab."

Terra snorted. "I remember the way," she said, jostling Danny with her shoulder as she made her way out of Mac's office.

Danny gave a low whistle and looked at everyone. "Lucky me," he said. He followed Terra down the hall.

* * *

Terra was waiting in the print lab when Danny arrived. She stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed, her jaw set, her eyes dark. He sighed and made his way to the computer, carefully sidestepping her. "So I'm guessing you want to see the print." 

"Your intelligence amazes me, Messer," Terra said, and Danny winced. She only called him 'Messer' when she was angry with him. She moved to stand behind him, resting her hands on the back of his chair. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "And if you think that calling and warning me about Mac's visit is going to get you out of talking about last night, you obviously don't know me that well."

Danny took a deep breath but kept his eyes on the monitor. He had hoped that she would take the fact that he'd given her warning into consideration when deciding whether or not to ream him out for what had happened the night before. Obviously, he should have known better. Terra was not the type of person who left things to fester. When she was pissed off, she let everyone know it. And at the moment, she was pissed at him. And she had every reason to be. "I'm sorry."

Terra pushed on the chair, spinning him around so that he was facing her. It was impossible not to look at her when her face was only inches from his. He prayed he was imagining the hurt in her eyes. "What's the worst phrase in the English language?"

He had heard this spiel of hers before. Usually, when she started spouting this crap off, he would roll his eyes. But he didn't have the balls to do that when she was so angry with him. She'd probably belt him right across the face. "'I'm sorry.'"

"And why is that?"

This was not a conversation he wanted to be having right now, especially in the lab, where anyone could walk in and overhear it. But at least, as long as they were in public, she couldn't yell at him – or hit him – which she definitely would do if it were just the two of them. "Because it's overused."

"And," she said, "because people rarely ever mean it."

He licked his lips, making sure to maintain eye contact with her. She was a trained interrogator and could read body language the way most people read books. Worse yet, she knew all of his tells – one of the downfalls of being really bad at poker. In all the years they had known each other, he had never been able to lie to her. "Look, Rocky – "

The manic glint in her eyes startled him. "Oh, no. You do not get to call me Rocky right now, you insensitive ass, because it wasn't Rocky you were on top of last night. It was Terra." Her breathing hitched, and he realized she was crying. She never cried. "Fuck, Danny. How do you do this to me? It's not fair. I swear to God, all you have to do is look at me the right way and all my clothes vanish. You suck me in, and I know I should say no, but I can't do it."

Danny said nothing. He kept his eyes on the floor. He was afraid to see the hurt etched plainly on her face. He didn't even attempt to joke or charm his way out of this. "I'm really sorry, Terra."

She shook her head sadly. "You're always sorry, Danny. It doesn't change anything." She glanced around, her eyes coming to rest on a chair on the other side of the room. She wheeled it over and collapse ungracefully into it, using her heels to pull herself along the floor until she was directly beside him. "I don't like being your consolation prize. What, Monroe rejects you, and you have to settle for me? I thought I meant more to you than that."

Danny chewed on the inside of his cheek. The guilt he hadn't felt that morning was starting to gnaw at his stomach. He gently nudged her with his shoulder. "Hey, don't be like that. You know how important you are to me."

She exhaled slowly through pursed lips. "We agreed that we weren't going to do this anymore."

"I know." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Chalk it up to a moment of weakness, all that tequila…" He stared at her, unable to block the memories of how her lips felt against his skin. "…and you looking damn fine in that shirt."

"Flattery gets you nowhere with me. You know that." She tightened her ponytail and met his gaze, her gray eyes lifeless. "_Me avete danneggiato._"

His eyes widened slightly. He took her hand gently in his and squeezed it reassuringly. "_Mai più_."

"Sex complicates things, Danny. We stopped for a reason. I can't go through that again, and I can't lose you, either."

His heart lurched. He threw an arm around Terra and pulled her into a tight, one-armed hug, resting his chin on her head. "You're not going to lose me. You think I want to lose you? You should take it as a compliment that I trust you enough to come to you when I needed someone."

Terra smiled faintly and rolled her eyes. "You are such a woman." She nodded at the computer. "Now tell me about this print."

"All right," he said. "Let's find out who owns this baby." He ran the print again. "So what did you decide?"

"Water balloon."

Danny laughed. Terra had told him, when he called to warn her of Mac's impending visit, that she was going to pull a prank on him. He would have paid good money to see the look on Mac's face afterwards. "You should've taken a page out of your old man's book."

"I just had the carpet in my office shampooed, and I'm sure you remember how long it took to clean all that flour up."

"Yeah, what's up with guests at your house having to do chores?"

Terra smiled at him. "Guests are one thing. You're family."

This time, when the message came up, Terra reached across him to enter in her clearance, finally unsealing the file. Danny adjusted his glasses on his nose and leaned forward to examine the screen. "Boom. Alexi Pamchenko, age twenty-two. He's of Russian descent…" Danny scrolled through the file, pointing out any and all pertinent information as he came across it. "It doesn't say why he has immunity, though. You would know. Is he a political refugee?"

"_Santa __mãe__ de Deus_," Terra murmured, sinking back against her chair. She buried her face in her hands. "Fuck, Boomer…" He turned at the sound of his nickname. "Both of our lives just got a hell of a lot worse."

Danny raised his eyebrows. He didn't like where this was going. "What are you talking about?"

"Alexi Pamchenko is the son of a Russian diplomat – a man who has made extremely generous contributions to numerous worthwhile organizations." She propped her feet up on the table, next to the keyboard. "Our odds of bringing him in for questioning just completely disappeared."

"Yeah, but we found his print on top of the blood spatter. Means he was there after all those people were killed. That's gotta count for something."

Terra made a noise in the back of her throat. "One fingerprint lifted from the counter of a bodega that probably sees a thousand people a day is hardly incriminating evidence, regardless of the circumstances. I would get laughed out of my supervisor's office if I took her that. There has to be something else." Her eyes drifted to the stack of folders on the other side of the desk. "That's a lot of prints."

He nodded. "Like you said… Print city."

She rubbed the back of her neck. "I hate people who think they can get away with murder," she mumbled, her tone cold. Danny's stomach clenched painfully.

"Hey," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder, "are you going to be able to handle this?"

She just looked at him, and he had his answer. "If Pamchenko did do this, we have to prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt. What other evidence did you guys collect from the scene?"

Danny pursed his lips, thinking. He ticked off the list of evidence on his fingers. "Fibers, trace, various blood donations… Flack brought in some video footage from the ATM across the street – "

Terra planted one foot on the edge of the desk and pushed off, sliding her chair across the floor. "I'm on the footage." She stood up and gestured at the stack of folders with a sweep of her arm. "I'm assuming you can handle those by yourself."

He smiled. "You're gonna leave me here alone to process these?"

"Consider it payback for this morning," she said with a wink. "I'll be in A/V."


	5. Better than Nothing

**A/N: I'm sorry! I meant to have this posted yesterday, but I haven't written any of chapter 7 yet, so I have to increase the amount of time between updates. This and chapter 6 were written before SQUEE-FEST 2007 aka 318, so now it's really hard to continue with the angst, which is why I'm having problems writing chapter 7.  
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**I'm getting mixed reviews about Terra, though most of you seem intrigued by the character. Well, get used to her, because she's not going anywhere. \evil laughter/  
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**Just in case everyone has already forgotten, Ross is Adam's last name.**

**Thanks as always to my fabulous beta and gamma, Blue and Spunky. And thanks to Sparkles for the correct Portuguese translations.**

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**Chapter 5: Better than Nothing**

Terra navigated the halls of the crime lab like a pro, though it had been several years since she'd graced the building with her presence. To get to the A/V lab, she made a right out of the fingerprint lab and took her next left, passing by Mac's office, before heading through the second door on her left. The skinny, curly-haired guy – Ross, she remembered – was already there, fiddling with the VCR. The other guy – Hawkes – was there as well. Both turned as she strode through the door.

She ignored the dumbfounded looks they gave her and sidled up to the nearest screen. She was very careful not to convey her relief that it was the two of them handing the surveillance footage, and not anyone else. If she had to be in the same room with either Bonasera or Taylor, she would not-so-quietly go insane. And though she was sure she would like Monroe, based on Danny's many stories about her, Terra was glad to not have to face her at the moment. She idly wondered if Detective Flack would be joining them. He was cute.

"Anything interesting so far?" she asked, using her head to gesture towards the monitors.

Hawkes stared at her for another moment before shaking his head. "Adam was just cuing up the footage to around the time of the murders."

"Okay," said Ross. He turned from the VCR to the keyboard, his fingers moving swiftly across it. Terra kept her eyes on the screen, watching as the grainy image of the bodega appeared. The time stamp on the bottom read 11:15 AM. "That should do it."

Hawkes leaned closer to her. "Witnesses claim they heard shots around 11:30, but no one was able to get an accurate description of the suspect."

Terra nodded, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. She already knew this, of course; Taylor and Flack had given her a brief rundown of the case after she told them what that code had meant. "And, how good of a description do you think we'll get from an ATM surveillance camera that was across the street?"

Hawkes pursed his lips and was silent for a minute. Then he looked at her and said, "Better than nothing."

Terra smiled and ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth. "Very true."

They stood quietly, watching the footage, their eyes following the passersby onscreen. Terra leaned forward slightly, hoping to recognize someone on the tape, but the picture was so fuzzy that she could barely make out the faces at all. And, as it was an ATM camera, their view of the bodega was occasionally blocked when someone had the audacity to actually use the machine. As she stepped back into position beside Hawkes, she felt a change ripple through him. She sensed something coming from the way he shifted position, nervously shuffling from foot to foot. She could tell he wanted to ask her something, and he was worried about her reaction.

"I don't bite," she said, never taking her eyes off the screen. She desperately wanted to speed this up, but they didn't have a precise time for the attacks, and fast forwarding might cause them to miss something vital.

Hawkes laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was just curious…about what Stella said to you earlier."

She crossed her arms and took a deep breath. As much as she despised Bonasera, she wasn't about to speak ill of her in front of members of her team. Only Danny was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of her various rants about Taylor and Bonasera – which she hadn't had in years, ever since the last time she had worked with the CSIs. She chewed the inside of her cheek. "It's not important."

"Seemed like it was pretty heated," Hawkes pressed. He jammed his hands into his front pockets.

Terra shook her head. It wasn't the first time Bonasera had called her a bitch, and it wouldn't be the last. Terra considered 'bitch' to be Bonasera's pet name for her. "It's nothing."

"The supply closet…" Hawkes murmured, his eyes sparkling. "Do I even want to know?"

Terra gritted her teeth so hard that her jaw hurt. "Not if you want to keep your internal organs internal, Doctor."

_I knew I should have stayed and processed prints with Danny._

Suddenly, there was a flurry of motion onscreen. Terra checked the time stamp – 11:28 AM. Pedestrians on the sidewalk all dove for cover at approximately the same time, glancing around, obviously searching for the source of the gunshots. Moments later, a young man came racing out of the bodega. Someone followed close behind and shot him once in the back, then turned and ran down the street – and off the screen.

"That was never in the eyewitness accounts," Hawkes mumbled, reaching for a file folder on the desk nearby. He flipped through the folder. "Adam, can you rewind it?"

"Sure thing," Ross said. He went back to just before the young man ran out of the bodega.

"What's up?" asked Terra.

"Witnesses said that the gunman shot someone on the sidewalk, but no one ever said that the man had come out of the bodega."

Terra's eyes drifted towards the ceiling. "In moments of extreme duress, the eyes see what they want to see. All they saw was a man get shot on the sidewalk. To them, it didn't matter where he came from."

"But why kill him in public?" Hawkes asked, shutting the file with a snap. "If he was killed so that there would be no witnesses, it doesn't make sense to do it in front of an entire street of people who can ID him."

"No one did ID him," Terra reminded him. "You said so yourself. None of the eyewitnesses were able to provide an exact description of the suspect. There was too much commotion because of the shooting. The only people able to accurately describe the gunman were in the bodega, and they're all dead."

"He was taking an awful risk in doing that, though. There was no way for him to be entirely certain that none of the people on that sidewalk would be able to describe him. It would have been more logical to let that one witness go rather than having an entire street full of people who could testify against him."

Terra shrugged. "Tunnel vision. He was running on adrenaline, obviously not thinking clearly. All he knew was that, for whatever reason, he had to kill that man, and he wasn't going to stop until he'd accomplished his task. It probably wasn't until after he'd already taken the kill shot that he even realized he was outside. Did you notice the bit of hesitation before he ran?"

"Adam," Hawkes said, "play it again."

They watched it again. Three more times, in fact. Ross would rewind it to just before the shooting occurred and pause it after the suspect had disappeared off camera. They still could not seem to find the suspect going into the bodega – only coming out of it. After the third viewing, Terra made a discovery.

"He doesn't look at the camera."

The next time through, Hawkes caught it as well. "After he realizes he's outside, in front of all those witnesses, the instinct to flee takes hold of him. But he doesn't look around, searching for an escape route. He starts running east, towards the river."

Terra shook her head. "_Filho da punta_," she muttered. "He knew what he was doing. He knew the camera was there."

Hawkes frowned. "But the only way he could know that was…" He trailed off as comprehension showed on his face. "The entire thing was planned. We've been working under the assumption that it was a robbery gone awry. It's possible this has been planned for quite some time."

"It had to be," Terra exclaimed. She pointed to the frozen image of the suspect. "Taylor told me that the autopsy reports say that each victim was shot at least three times except for the last one. Look at his weapon. It's a nine millimeter – means he brought extra ammunition. He knew he was going to be shooting a number of people."

Hawkes shook his head, his eyes locked on the screen. "Who in the world is that heartless?"

Terra said nothing, the images popping into her head unbidden. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, fighting down the sudden wave of nausea that always accompanied the memories. When she had adequately composed herself, she said, "If he planned this, it means he checked out the area beforehand. We need to go back in the surveillance footage and see if we can find him." She glanced at Ross, which seemed to startle the lab tech. "How many hours of footage do we have?"

Ross gulped audibly. "Three days."

Terra clicked her tongue. "Yeah. That's not good enough."

* * *

Lindsay circled the DNA lab for the seventh time. Where was Adam? It had been hours since she had dropped off the fiber for processing, and she was getting anxious. If it was true that their prime suspect had diplomatic immunity, they were going to need a lot of solid evidence if they wanted any hope of brining this man to justice. Lindsay didn't think she would be able to stomach learning that whoever had committed this grisly crime would get away with it. 

As she wandered absently through the halls, waiting for Adam to return from wherever he had disappeared to, she thought about this Special Agent McQueen that had been thrust headfirst into their investigation. Knowing Mac's dislike for the federal law enforcement agencies, she understood how difficult it must have been to bring her in. But it seemed like there was something else. She knew she hadn't imagined Danny's discomfort during the conversation in Mac's office – and she would have to have been blind not to see Stella's dislike for the FBI agent.

Lindsay liked to give people the benefit of the doubt, and she wanted to spend some more one-on-one time with Terra before making a judgment about her, but the odds were not stacked in her favor.

After her eighth time circling the DNA lab, Lindsay gave up. She had already learned the make and model of the car from which the fiber had come – a 2006 Hummer limousine – and with Stella processing trace, Mac working with the bullets, and Danny going through the prints, there wasn't much else for Lindsay to do. And she had to do something. She couldn't just sit idly by while everyone else worked.

She went to the break room, hoping to find something to calm her frazzled nerves. In the absence of alcohol – a good, strong shot of whiskey would do the trick – she settled for tea. Stella had recently bought a box of chamomile, so Lindsay dug that out of the cupboard and set about boiling the water.

She was just removing the kettle from the stove when Hawkes and Terra came in. They were obviously in the middle of a discussion, and Lindsay's ears perked automatically.

"We need to start considering motive," Terra was saying. She hovered in the doorway, bouncing on the balls of her feet, while Hawkes made his way to the fridge. "If you guys want to nail Pamchenko with this, we're going to have a hell of a time coming up with a decent one. He definitely doesn't need the money."

"So we're agreed that it was not a robbery gone bad?" Hawkes asked. He rummaged through the fridge, disappearing behind the door, and emerged moments later with two bottles of water. He tossed one to Terra, who deftly caught it with one hand, and drained half of his in three gulps.

Terra balanced her water bottle on her palm. "I don't know. All the signs seem to point to robbery, though it still doesn't explain the choice of weapon."

"A nine millimeter isn't exactly unconventional when robbing a store," Hawkes pointed out, grinning.

"True, but the extra ammunition is. Generally, the robber will only shoot the store clerk – not everyone else that happened to be in there at the time. Yet our guy brought the extra ammunition with him. He was planning on killing a lot of people. Leads me to believe that this is about more than just the couple hundred dollars he took from the register."

Lindsay had been following the conversation the way a spectator watches a tennis match – her head going back and forth between the two. "Maybe the robbery wasn't a robbery?" She hated the way her voice sounded. She had meant to sound more confident when stating her theory, but something about Terra intimidated her.

Hawkes and Terra both turned to look at her, and Lindsay blushed, dropping her eyes to her mug of tea.

Terra furrowed her brow, tossing her water bottle back and forth. "You mean it's possible our gunman robbed the store to make it look like a robbery, but that wasn't part of the original plan?"

Lindsay nodded and continued, her voice slightly bolder now. "It's unusual to put so much effort into robbing a place where the take would be so small. Most of those bodegas are robbed on the spur of the moment – little to no planning involved. If he brought extra ammunition…" She trailed off, letting the implication speak for itself.

Hawkes raised his eyebrows. "Could explain why he followed that guy outside. Maybe he was the primary target."

Terra shook her head. "No. If he were the target, our guy would have taken him out first." She set her bottle of water down on the nearest table. "Did you ID all the victims?"

"Sid said they'd managed to ID all but one." Terra cocked an eyebrow, and Hawkes explained, "The coroner."

"The guy on the sidewalk… What was his name?"

Hawkes let out a slow breath. "Nicholas Cooper, I believe."

The muscles in Terra's jaw twitched and her eyes dropped to the floor, which did not go unnoticed by Lindsay. "Did you know him?" she asked.

Terra glanced up, startled. "No," she said. "But I feel like I should. I'm certain I've heard that name before." She absently rubbed her shoulder and licked her lips, a gesture that reminded Lindsay of Danny. "This is going to drive me nuts until I remember how I know that name." She groaned and dropped her head back, cracking the back of her skull on the glass and not seeming to notice. "What else do you guys have? Please tell me you have something else."

Lindsay cleared her throat. "I may have something."

Terra looked at her, wiggling her fingers. "Well, pony up, Monroe. I hope it's good."

Lindsay slid out of her chair, suddenly antsy. "I found a couple of fibers at the scene, outside the bodega. Stella found the same fibers inside. They belong to a 2006 white Hummer limo."

Terra grinned. "And in an amazing coincidence, Alexi Pamchenko rides around in a 2006 white Hummer limo."

Lindsay almost laughed. Working the scene that morning, she'd assumed they had nothing. But all their nothings were starting to add up to something, and it was pointing towards one person. "Do we have enough to bring him in for questioning?"

"Hell, no," Terra grunted. "He has to come in willingly, and he won't. He's as stubborn as a mule on Sunday."

"You've met him?" Lindsay asked.

"I've had dinner with his parents, attended a few of his father's charity events…" Terra laughed bitterly. "We're acquainted."

"Do you believe he's capable of doing something like this?" Hawkes asked.

Terra sighed sadly. Lindsay wasn't entirely certain, but she thought she saw a hint of tears in the agent's eyes. "I learned a long time ago that anyone is capable of doing anything to anybody."

Lindsay felt a lump rise in her throat. She couldn't quite explain why, but she felt a sudden surge of empathy towards Terra. "All this evidence… Are you sure we won't be able to at least bring him in?"

"Have you ever gone after a guy with immunity?" Terra asked, not unkindly. "You can't. They're untouchable. It's like trying to catch a ghost in the wind."

* * *

Stella got nowhere with the trace she'd found. Everything she had bagged went back to the bodega – products that were sold inside the shop. Nothing was out of the ordinary; nothing seemed out of place. She ran the last sample from that she'd collected, praying that she got something – anything. If this killer had diplomatic immunity, it was going to take more power than they had to bring him in – no matter how much evidence they were able to stack against him. 

The computer spit out the results from the orange dust she'd run tests on – cayenne powder. She hoped that the others were getting more from their evidence than she was.

She leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs out in front of her. As she glanced out the window, she did a double take. Without her realizing it, the sky had changed from blue to a kind of amber gold. She checked her watch; it had been hours since she'd had a break.

She returned the samples to the evidence bin and made her way out into the hallway, headed for the break room. But as the room came into view, she halted in her tracks. Lindsay, Hawkes, and Terra were clearly visible through the glass, grouped around the same table. Stella couldn't hear anything they were saying, but it was clear from the animated way Terra was speaking that they weren't discussing the case.

A frown creased her forehead, but curiosity got the best of her, and she inched closer to the door.

Terra's voice, as perky and as upbeat as Stella had ever heard, rang through the hall. "So he's chasing this goat, right, because that's his 'lucky jacket'. And as he's chasing, he trips over his own two feet and face plants right into a pile of cow dung."

Hawkes and Lindsay both burst into laughter. Hawkes pounded his palm on the table, and Lindsay laughed so hard she snorted.

"Klutziest track star I ever dated," Terra said. "Funniest date I ever had."

Stella made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat and changed course, heading instead for the print lab. She'd check on Danny's progress. She didn't think she could stomach being in the same room as Terra McQueen. Not after everything that woman had put the lab through.

Danny was asleep at the computer went Stella entered the print lab. Smiling softly, she gently shook his shoulder. He bolted awake, glancing around wildly, his eyes unfocused. He blinked a couple of times, then seemingly realized who he was looking at. "Oh. Hey, Stell. What's up?"

Stella spotted his glasses on the desk beside the keyboard; she handed them to him. "I was coming to see if you got any other hits with our prints."

Danny yawned widely, not even bothering to cover his mouth, and shook his head. "Nope."

"Excuse me?" She had to have misheard him.

"Nothing on the prints," Danny said. "Just Pamchenko." He handed her Pamchenko's file. "The only other match I got was to the owner of the bodega, who is currently in the morgue. I don't think he'll be much help."

Stella sighed and tossed the file aside without even looking at it. She had nothing, Danny only had a match to two fingerprints, and Hawkes and Lindsay were obviously not concerned with the case, if they were laughing it up with Terra in the break room. The case was going downhill fast.

He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "I'm guessing you didn't get anything from trace?"

She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. "No. Everything came back to products on sale at the store."

Danny pursed his lips. "Maybe Terra got something from the ATM tapes." Stella grunted, and Danny narrowed his eyes. "Hey," he growled, pointing an accusing finger at her. "None of that."

Stella rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, Danny, but having her here is a virus. You remember what happened last time?"

"Yeah," Danny said, his tone ice, "I do." He angrily shuffled the stack of file folders beside the computer. "She broke the case, saved our asses, and Mac tried to have her fired because of it."

"Now, Danny, you know that's not how it happened."

Danny clicked his tongue. "Sounds about right to me."

Stella shook her head. She couldn't understand the attachment Danny had to the girl. It didn't make any sense. He didn't realize what a cancer she was – how bad she was for him and his career. She was one of the most unprofessional people Stella had ever worked with, and the thought of her having anything to do with a case this important made the bile rise in her throat. She knew Mac wouldn't have gone to Terra for assistance unless he had no other choice, and Terra had naturally forced her way onto the investigation.

The last time Terra had worked a case with the lab, she had very nearly gotten Danny fired. After all the times Danny had screwed up in the past, this was not what he needed. He had fallen out of Mac's favor in recent years, but lately he was starting to redeem himself. With Terra around, God only knew what would happen.

"Look, Danny," Stella said, but she was unsure of how to finish that statement. She exhaled slowly, attempting to think of how she could word her thoughts without upsetting him.

He, however, seemed to guess what she was trying to say. "Look," he muttered, standing, "I know you don't like Terra, but we need her on this. She liaisons between the US and seven different foreign governments – no one knows diplomatic immunity like she does. And just because she mouthed off to you before doesn't mean she's not good at her job. So whatever you're going to say, save it."

He stormed out of the print lab, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Stella sighed heavily. Terra had already gotten to him.


	6. Foot in the Door

**A/N: Kudos to those of you who recognized one of Terra's lines last chapter as something Danny said in S1.**

**Much of Danny's section in this chapter is dedicated to my fabulous beta, Blue, who will probably recognize his own words. Now, I'm prepared for people to want to burn me in effigy after reading that part, but good God, people, READ IT ALL before you rush to judgment. Read every little bit. Hell, read it twice if that's what it takes.**

**Speaking of Danny's section, he's a little upset, so the swearing is a lot worse in this chapter than the others. If that's something that bothers you, don't read it. I don't really want to up the rating.**

**The King of Cool Steve McQueen the most awesome actor to ever grace the silver screen. Nothing bad shall be said about the man in my presence, or heads shall roll. If you haven't seen any of his movies, you are depriving yourself, and I hereby order all of you to see _The Great Escape._**

**Again, thanks to Sparkles for the correct Portuguese translation.**

**My beta, Blue, my gamma, Spunky, and my…whatever comes after gamma, Mandy, are basically the three most awesomest people on the planet. **

**Updates may not be as regular from now on. I had the first six chapters written prior to 318, but now I can't seem to write. Chapter 7 is only half-finished, so I have no idea when it will be posted.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Six: Foot in the Door**

The place in the lab Mac felt most at home was not his office, with its plaques and certificates and memorabilia of a past that seemed more and more remote with each passing day. It was the ballistics lab. He understood weapons better than he understood anything else on the planet. Know the weapon, know the killer. The rounds Sid had pulled from the victims were – at first glance – standard 9mm rounds, but there were no matches in IBIS.

Mac stared at the bullet that was giving him so much trouble. Maybe it would speak to him. Maybe it would just tell him that Pamchenko had killed all these people, and then he could go home and get some sleep, maybe spend some time with Peyton. There had to be something else. Mac had to be missing something. He decided to take a closer look. He held the bullet between his thumb and his forefinger and put it under the magnifying glass.

"It's an armor-piercing round," he murmured to himself.

Well, that changed everything. Armor-piercing rounds were primarily military-issue, so IBIS wouldn't be much help in that department. He would have to run the bullet against all military databases, and since their suspect was Russian, he started with that one. He couldn't believe he hadn't realized that before.

Hawkes had come to him earlier with what he, Terra, and Lindsay had figured out from the ATM footage. Footage, fingerprints, fibers… The case was slowly starting to come together. If they gathered enough substantial evidence, they might be able to convince the Russian government to let them bring Pamchenko in for questioning. It was a long shot, but a long shot was better than no shot.

It was one of the reasons he had eventually relented to asking Terra for help. Aside from the fact that she was a top-level government employee, she was fluent in Russian and had a friendly, working relationship with the Russian embassy. Mac hoped to use that relationship to his advantage. If Terra was good at anything, she was a charmer. He supposed it had something to do with her Texas upbringing. She flashed a grin, batted her eyelashes, summoned up the accent she tried so hard to hide, and people were putty in her hands.

He glanced up as Stella walked in. She did not look pleased. "She's already doing it, Mac," she said. "She's infecting the team, and she started with Danny."

Mac pursed his lips. He always suspected that the reasons Stella disliked Terra so much were vastly different from his own. Stella was a strong woman with a slightly overbearing personality, and so was Terra. Terra was not one to be pushed around, and Stella happened to do a lot of pushing. Their personalities clashed because they were so similar. But Mac also assumed that Stella was slightly jealous of Terra's background, even though she may not have realized it. Stella was an orphan who had to make her own way through life. Terra came from a large, wealthy family and had reaped in the benefits of her family's money. And Stella was very protective of Danny, and whenever Terra was around, Danny tended to be impulsive – more so than usual.

"You can't let her get to you, Stella. We have a job to do. As long as she helps us get this guy, we have nothing to worry about."

"She isn't helping! She's in the break room with Lindsay and Hawkes, telling some ridiculous story about a date she had at a petting zoo! What has she done for this case, besides unlocking the prints of the suspect we can't arrest?"

"Sheldon came to me earlier," Mac said, hoping that his calm demeanor would be contagious. Stella was nothing if not stubborn, and she would be dwelling on this for the rest of the case. He didn't want a repeat of what had happened before. As much as he disliked Terra, they had a murderer to catch, and she was helping, regardless of what Stella thought. "He told me what Lindsay found out on the fiber. It's car upholstery – consistent with the same car that Pamchenko has."

Stella stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. "So what does that give us?"

"It gets us one step closer to an answer. Fibers from the car put him at the scene. Fingerprints put him inside the bodega. I'm hoping that this bullet puts him with the gun."

Stella fingered the bullet. "Even if it does, what does it matter? Pamchenko's got immunity. We can't arrest him. We can't even bring him in for questioning unless he volunteers."

"Everything is connected. Enough circumstantial evidence will build a convincing case, which we can then take to the Russian embassy in hopes of gaining their assistance. A crime like this, it could be very bad for public relations."

"You really think the Russian government is going to help us if Pamchenko is guilty?"

Mac raised his eyebrows, allowing a bit of a grin to slip through. "That's what Terra is for."

Stella sighed and looked away. She steepled her fingers and brought them to her lips. "I don't trust Terra."

"Neither do I." It wasn't entirely true. He didn't necessarily trust her as a person, but he trusted her as an agent. He knew she would do her job.

"Then why is she here?"

Mac exhaled loudly through his nose. It was difficult to get through to Stella when she was like this. "Because we need her."

Stella opened her mouth to say something else, but before she could, the computer beeped, signaling a match. Stella was closest, so she leaned over to check it out. "Military weapons?" she questioned, looking at Mac over her shoulder. "Are you serious?"

Mac lifted one shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug. "At first I thought they were standard nine millimeter rounds, but then I realized that they're – "

"Armor-piercing," Stella said, examining the bullet in her hands more closely. "Which means they're military grade."

Mac turned the monitor so that he could see the screen to read the results. "The Sh-18 double action pistol. Nine by nineteen millimeter chamber." He squinted at the screen. "Eighteen round capacity…"

Stella glanced up at the change in his tone. "Is that a bad thing?"

Mac bit the inside of his cheek. "Lindsay had the theory that the attack was planned, and the robbery was just a cover, but it was based on the assumption that the shooter brought extra ammunition with him."

"He still would have had to at least bring another clip. Nine victims, more than one was shot three times or more…"

Something at the bottom of the screen caught Mac's eye. He smiled. "It was developed as a sidearm for the Russian military."

Stella returned the smile. "So it's probably standard-issue for security at the Russian embassy." She tossed the bullet in the air and caught it easily in her palm. "Think it will be enough to get us a warrant?"

Mac cocked his head to the side. "At the very least, it'll get our foot in the door."

* * *

Flack wondered if he had missed some memo when he wandered into the lab and found the place nearly deserted. He glanced at his watch, thinking maybe it was later than he thought, but it was only half past nine. The CSIs were such unbelievable workaholics that he expected them to be there until well past midnight, struggling to make sense of their evidence. Trace was empty except for the night shift tech, who glared at Flack when he stumbled in. The night DNA guy was asleep at his desk, his feet propped up. Mac's office was dark. 

Now Flack was sure he was hallucinating. Mac's office was never dark; the guy was always there. It was annoying, the way he was some sort of super human crime-solving machine. But he got results, and the sheriff liked results. Results, however, were not forthcoming with this case. Flack's phone had only recently stopped ringing – 'concerned' public officials who wanted to cover their asses had been calling him nonstop ever since he left the lab to retrieve more surveillance footage from the ATM.

Of course, his phone only stopped ringing because he put it on silent. He didn't have the balls to turn it off – if it went straight to voicemail, his superiors would know he was dodging them and there would be hell to pay – but this way he could use the excuse that he hadn't heard it.

Yeesh. A person could hear a pin drop in the lab at the moment, it was so damn quiet. It was eerie. Flack didn't think he'd ever heard the lab so quiet.

He made his way through the halls in search of someone – anyone. He'd busted his ass trying to get this footage and now there was no one around to give it to? What a crock. That was when he noticed that there was a light on in A/V. So someone, at least, still cared enough to work the case.

It was Terra. Her feet were propped up on the table in front of her, and she had reclined in the chair. Her eyes were closed, her chest rhythmically rising and falling with her breathing – not that he was looking. Although the angle at which he was standing offered him a spectacular view down the front of her shirt – and he couldn't help but notice that she had taken off her jacket. The three monitors situated before her all showed the same scene – the bodega and the surrounding street. The timestamp on the bottom revealed that the images were from two days ago.

"It's not polite to stare."

Startled, he cried out. He thought she was asleep. "How did you know I was here?"

Using her foot to push off, she swiveled to face him. She'd taken her hair out of the ponytail, but she still wore her glasses. The tank top was damn near skin tight, hugging the curve of her breasts just so. She was obviously trying kill him. "I heard you coming. This lab is too quiet at night." She stretched her arms over her head, causing the thin material of the tank to ride up her stomach, once again baring the tantalizing preview of the tattoo that sat just underneath the waistband of her pants. "Also, you should really consider lightening up on the cologne."

Flack blushed bright red and looked around, expecting Mac or Stella or someone to appear out of thin air. He could not believe that none of them were here. Besides, he didn't trust himself alone with this woman. "Where's everyone else?"

Terra raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips tugging upwards in the trace hint of a smile. "Not here."

Flack rolled his eyes. "Well, I can see that."

"Perceptive of you, Detective," she murmured. She nodded at the bundle of tapes tucked under his arm. "Is that the rest of the footage from the ATM?"

"No. It's porn. I was returning it to Danny. Want to watch?"

She stood, licking her lips. His eyes were riveted on the action. He was so intent on staring at her mouth that he almost missed it when she said, "They're not those lame-ass pornos that try to have a plot, are they? I hate those."

His jaw hit the floor. Was she serious? God, a girl that was willing to watch porn was such an unbelievable fucking turn on. It was official. She was trying to kill him. He could only stammer out unintelligible syllables. "Huh…uh…buh…"

Terra took the videotapes from underneath his arm. "Are you always this articulate, or am I just lucky today?"

She wanted to be lucky? He could make her lucky.

She picked up the first tape and examined it. "How far back do these go?"

Flack blinked. What was she talking about? Oh. Right. The case. He cleared his throat and shifted position awkwardly. He needed to sit down, else he would soon be in a very embarrassing predicament. He sidestepped over to the nearest chair and settled himself in it. "Uh, a week. Bank manager says after that they start taping over them."

Terra sighed, collapsing back into her chair. "I was afraid of that. The place I used to work at in high school did the same thing." She inched over to the table and stacked the tapes on top of the VCR.

Flack ran a hand through his hair. "So, seriously, where is everyone?"

Without looking at him, Terra said, "Taylor sent them home."

He almost laughed. "Yeah, right. I know these people. They don't sleep."

Terra shrugged and propped her feet up again. "He said something about how they couldn't afford to screw up this case, so everyone needed to get a decent night's sleep and start tomorrow with fresh eyes." She glanced at him over the back of her chair. "I must admit that I don't really pay attention when he talks."

Flack scooted closer, moving his chair directly beside hers. "So, what, he left you to go through all this footage alone? He must really not like you."

She laughed softly and absently rubbed her shoulder. "He doesn't. But I volunteered."

He turned to look at her. "How come?"

She furrowed her brow and gave him a look that suggested the answer should have been obvious. "Everything in this case ties back to Pamchenko – the fingerprints, the fibers, the bullets. I'm the only person who knows what this kid looks like. If I can find him on the surveillance video…" She trailed off, her eyes drifting downwards. "Well, it won't make one damn bit of difference, because he'll still have immunity."

Flack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Level with me here. Are we wasting our time?"

Terra folded her arms defiantly across her chest, her jaw set. "We owe it to those people to learn what happened. If it turns out it was Pamchenko, we'll deal with that as it comes. But finding a killer is never a waste of time, Detective Flack."

He groaned. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant…" But he didn't know how to finish that sentence, and to be perfectly honest, after seeing the look in her eyes, he was afraid to. He returned his gaze to the monitors, and they watched the video in silence.

He felt incredibly useless, sitting here watching the footage. He had no idea who he was looking for – he kept waiting for Elvis to appear onscreen – and he was about to tell Terra that he would see her in the morning when she sighed audibly. He glanced over at her and nearly choked on his tongue. She had thrown her head back and was running her fingers lightly across her collarbone. His mouth went dry, his palms became sweaty, and his cock twitched to life in his pants.

It wouldn't kill him to stay a while. He wouldn't be able to get out of his chair for at least fifteen minutes, anyway.

Oblivious to the effect she was having on him, she bent over to adjust her shoes. He tried to fight the urge, but he couldn't resist the temptation to lean over and sneak a peek. The blood began to rush south again at the sight that met his eyes – another tattoo, this one situated at the small of her back. This one he had no problems making out; strangely enough, it was an almost exact replica of the one on Danny's right shoulder.

She straightened, and he shifted back into his original position, locking his eyes on the monitors.

He idly wondered how sturdy the lab tables were.

A few more minutes passed before Terra leaned forward slightly, squinting at the screen. Flack raised his eyebrows, focusing his attention on the footage. A young man, early twenties by the looks of him, was walking around. He was moving too slowly and looking around too often to just be strolling by. He didn't look lost, either. It was odd, but Flack wasn't sure why this was important. She stretched over to the VCR and paused the tape, then scooted her chair until she was only inches from the monitor.

Flack cleared his throat. "You know, that's bad for your eyes."

She shook her head, her curls swaying back and forth. Flack wondered if they felt as silky as they looked. "We've got him. _Filho da puta._"

Instantly at attention, Flack looked at the screen. "That's Pamchenko?"

"No."

"Then why did you – "

"That," Terra declared triumphantly, pointing at the grainy figure, "is Dmitri Kozlov. Personal aide to the Pamchenko family."

Flack furrowed his brow, more than a little confused. Were they not telling him everything again?

She must have seen the confusion on his face, because she explained, "Hawkes, Monroe, and I came to the conclusion that this morning's attack was planned. Whoever was responsible studied the area beforehand, taking note of all escape routes and surveillance cameras." She pointed to the screen again. "He looks a little too interested in the bodega, doesn't he?"

Flack drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Personal aide, huh?" Terra nodded, and he grinned as the realization struck him. "And aides don't have immunity."

She smiled broadly. "No, they don't."

He nearly whooped with joy. "I'll have my guys scoop him up first thing in the morning. I assume you'll want to be there when we question him?"

She nodded, still smiling. "If only because he'll try to pull the 'I don't speak English' card." She stood, removing her jacket from where she'd draped it over the back of her chair. Flack was relieved when she put it back on. He wasn't sure how much longer he could last. "Give me a call when you get him. Danny knows my number."

Flack coughed. "Hey, speaking of Messer, was he going straight home? I kind of need to talk to him about something."

Terra shook her head, almost sadly. "I think he said something about going to Sullivan's."

Flack pursed his lips. Something was off about her tone, but he couldn't quite pick up on what. He got to his feet. "I guess I'll go look for him there. You want to come? Grab a beer?"

She looked like she was sorely tempted by the idea, but she said, "That's all right. I'm not really in the mood to deal with drunk Danny tonight."

He laughed. "Sounds like you deal with drunk Dan a lot."

Her eyes were sad when she murmured, "More so lately." She grabbed her purse from the table and breezed past him. "Good night, Flack."

* * *

This was not how Danny had intended on spending his precious free time, especially considering how the previous night had turned out. But here he was, sitting on a stool at the end of the bar in Sullivan's, nursing a beer. In retrospect, going to a bar that was largely patronized by police officers was not the smartest decision he had ever made, but he'd only had to growl at two or three people before everyone realized that he was not in the mood to socialize. 

He was in the mood to drink.

And drink he did. He was already on his third beer, and empty shotglasses lined the edge of the bar in front of him.

He didn't want to think – about Lindsay, about the case, about the fact that he hadn't spoken to his parents in almost five months now. He didn't want to think about anything, but he especially didn't want to think about this whole fucked up situation with Terra. However, that was all he could think about. He couldn't afford to lose her; his friendship with Terra was sometimes the only damn thing in his whole messed-up life that made any sense. He hated that he might have screwed things up with her.

Danny knew, even though Terra had seemingly forgiven him, that she was still hurt. He could hardly blame her. She'd accused him of treating her like his consolation prize, and she was right. And he hated that she was right. He was doing that, and he'd been doing that ever since Lindsay had blown into New York. And she didn't deserve to be treated like that. Terra had been there for him when it seemed like no one else had his back. When his dad was in the hospital recovering from a heart attack, when everything went to hell after the Minhas case, when they finally pulled the plug on Louie…

When he first met Terra, more than five years ago, he hated her. And the feeling was mutual. He was still a rookie – new to the crime lab, at least, after a year or two on patrol – and a string of murders in Chinatown was his first high profile case. It was the latest in a long list of similar cases all across the country, and when DNA evidence revealed that it was the same suspect, the FBI was called in – including a fresh out of graduate school Terra.

They clashed from the moment they met. She thought he was too cocky and hotheaded, and he thought she was too stuck-up and a bit of a bitch. Then, there was the fact that she was a Mets fan. As a Yankees fan, Danny just could not abide by that. In fact, that was the topic of their first argument. She showed up to the scene in a Mets shirt, and he made some crack about their pitching strength. The 'debate' became so heated that they had to be physically removed from the crime scene.

It was Mac, ironically, who brought them together. Tired of their fighting – which had started to affect the case – he had locked the two of them in a supply closet, refusing to let them out until they had sorted out their differences.

Danny remembered the exact moment everything in their relationship shifted. They were screaming at each other, each blaming the other for their predicament. They both paused in their yelling to breathe, and he looked at her – really looked at her, for the first time. Her face was flushed, her eyes flashed. Her hair had fallen out of the ponytail, framing her face with thin wisps. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly. And something deep inside him snapped. They seemed to react at the same time, charging for each other and crashing their lips together.

They were in that closet for six hours. Six hours was a long time. They got to know each other – a couple of times. And they talked. Maybe it was being locked in the supply closet with no chance of escape, but Danny found it easier to open up to Terra than anyone he'd ever known before. He told her about growing up on the wrong side of the tracks, struggling to escape the less-than-noble world he'd grown up in. She told him that, being the youngest child and only daughter of an oil tycoon, her decision to join the FBI had not gone over well with her family. When she called him Danny, he almost thought he was hallucinating. She always called him Messer. In fact, she referred to almost everyone by his or her last name.

Mac finally came to let them out and ended up slamming the door shut again. Danny and Terra were…busy. By the time they emerged from the closet, a few minutes later, half of the NYPD and most of the members of Terra's team were on the other side of the door. They never did live that little escapade down.

Nights out with Terra became a regular occurrence, and though they sometimes ended with a repeat performance of what happened in the supply closet, more often than not they ended with one of them passed out on the other's couch. He loved spending time with her – she was fun and spontaneous and passionate. They were only just recently allowed back to the Statue of Liberty, and she still blushed whenever someone mentioned the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. He loved the way she smiled and the way she said his name – with the slight southern drawl she couldn't quite get rid of, no matter how hard she tried. She could turn him on with one look and a well-placed sigh. He was addicted to everything about her.

He'd always been a little bit in love with her. Even now, with Lindsay holding onto his heart, he still had feelings for Terra. She knew him better than any person alive – including his mother. She knew things about him that he didn't ever want Lindsay to know; he was afraid of what Lindsay would think of him if she did. When Lindsay had brought those DNA results to him back in April, the DNA results that put him at the scene of a murder, he could barely look her in the eye. He was ashamed that she had found out a piece of his past that he'd hoped would stay buried. But Terra knew him and all his faults and didn't care.

He felt horrible about it. It was like he was cheating on Lindsay, even though they weren't in a relationship, and he wasn't even sure if she still felt the same way as she had back in October. She certainly didn't seem to, the way she continued to reject his advances, the way she shut him down before he even said anything. He felt guilty for carrying this torch for a woman who wasn't even an ex-girlfriend. Actually, it wasn't guilt so much as a scratch, an itch at the back of his skull that drove him crazy and never went away. It was just the way things were.

The song on the jukebox switched, and the opening notes of "Somebody to Love" by Queen came spilling out of the speakers. Danny dropped his head to the bar with a sickening thud. This was Terra's favorite song. She loved to sing along, often using her bottle of beer as a microphone, dancing around Danny and trying to get him to crack a smile. "Greatest song ever written," was what she always said.

He'd always hated all of Terra's boyfriends – the few she had in the almost six years he'd known her. None of them were ever good enough for her. The first boyfriend she introduced to Danny cheated on her. Danny broke his nose and arm, landing him in the hospital for a few days. The guy refused to say what had happened, claiming that he'd gotten mugged on his way home. Terra still didn't know Danny had done that.

It wasn't just her boyfriends. Danny hated every guy who was attracted to her – guys on the police force who kept hinting that they wanted to be fixed up with her. It was even worse when she was attracted to someone. He'd 'outed' a lot of guys on the force just to keep her from dating them. He hated every man that had ever smiled at her, that had ever glanced hopefully in her direction.

He hated her for making him think about her, for making him feel this way. And he hated himself for letting her do this to him.

That was why he'd been so hesitant with Lindsay. He and Terra had screwed up their friendship irrevocably by continuing to sleep together after that first time in the supply closet. He wasn't an idiot – he knew there was no such thing as no strings attached sex, at least if it happened more than once. Emotions always came into play. He didn't want to fuck things up with Lindsay the way he had with Terra. He had two women battling for his mind and his heart – Lindsay had won the battle for his heart, but she was having a tough time kicking Terra out of his brain.

He finished his third beer and had just ordered another one from the bartender when Flack plopped unceremoniously onto the stool beside him, clapping him on the back. "Hey, man."

Danny grunted in greeting, hoping that Flack would get the hint and get lost.

Flack didn't take the hint. "Are we not feeling sociable tonight, Little Miss Sunshine?"

"No. We're not," Danny mumbled, splashing some of his beer on the counter as he yanked it from the bartender's hand.

"That's fine," Flack said, gesturing to the bartender that he would like a beer, also. He was far too chipper, considering the circumstances. When Danny was in a bad mood, everyone had to be in a bad mood. It just wasn't fair otherwise. "You don't have to be sociable. I just want to ask you something."

Danny rolled his eyes and took a long pull of his beer. "Fine. What do you want?"

Flack glanced around and then leaned closer conspiratorially. "How well do you know Terra?"

How well did he know Terra? That was a question he could spend a good six hours answering. He knew her favorite color was yellow, and her favorite movie was _Somebody Up There Likes Me_. He knew that, despite her last name, she preferred Paul Newman to the King of Cool. He knew why she was deathly afraid of clowns, and why she absolutely hated her birthday, and why "Only the Good Die Young" made her cry. He knew she couldn't shoot whiskey worth a damn, but she could hustle pool like a pro. He knew that she both hated and loved being the baby. He knew that she would do anything for her family, and that she considered Danny family. He knew the sound of her whimper and the smell of her body lotion. He knew that she still fit into the dress she'd worn to her debutante ball, and he knew how the fabric of that dress felt against his skin. He knew how to make her moan and tremble and come undone in his arms. He knew that she only called out a guy's name during sex if she was faking, and she never faked with him. He knew how to calm her down after she had a nightmare. He knew how she took her coffee. And he knew that, no matter what happened with Lindsay, if he couldn't have Terra – and he knew that he couldn't – then nobody could.

But he said none of this. He gave Flack a halfhearted shrug and said, "Well enough, I guess. Why?"

Flack grinned – the kind of goofy grin he only got when he was thinking about a pretty girl. "I was thinking about asking her out."

Danny froze, the beer halfway to his lips. Oh, no. Oh, fuck no. Not Flack. He coughed uncomfortably and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh, yeah?" he asked, hoping his voice didn't sound as strangled as he thought it did.

"Yeah, man," Flack said, and Danny looked at him in shock, hoping that he was imagining the dreamy tone he was speaking in. "Damn, you should have heard some of the things she said to Mac today. She's got balls, that one. She dumped a damn water balloon on the guy's head!" He took a long swallow of his beer and then slammed the bottle down on the bar. "And that body… Holy hell, I thought she was going to kill me in the A/V lab. She had to know what she was doing to me."

Danny bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, because now that the image of Flack and Terra together was in his head, he could not get it out. Why did Flack have to like Terra? No one was allowed to like Terra. Terra was his, goddammit. He didn't want to be with her the way he wanted to be with Lindsay, but she wasn't allowed to be with anyone else. The fourth beer had been a bad idea – or the five shots of whiskey prior to the beer. He could feel his stomach waging war against him.

"Why'd you ask how well I knew her?" Danny dreaded the answer, because he had a pretty good idea what it was.

"I was hoping you could help me out. Put in a good word for me, maybe? You're the one with the reputation, Romeo."

Rumors of Danny's conquests had been greatly exaggerated – by him. It wasn't intentional, but once he realized what was going on, he didn't try to correct people's assumptions. Whenever one of the guys on the force would start talking about some wild sexcapade, Danny would jump in and say, "Oh, man, there was this one girl…" But it was almost always the same girl – Terra.

He had never been a big fan of irony.

Danny stared at his beer until he saw two of them. Flack was one of his closest friends. He would probably be good for Terra – she certainly could use a decent guy, and Danny wanted her to be happy. But fuck, he hated him. Flack wasn't allowed to make Terra happy. That was Danny's job.

"I don't know how much…help I can be," Danny said, choosing his words carefully.

"Is she seeing anybody, d'you know?"

How the hell was he supposed to answer that? _No, she's not seeing anybody. She's not allowed to see anybody, because then she won't be available when I need her._ Danny ran a hand through his hair. "No," he said. "She's not."

What would Lindsay think, if she could hear his train of thought right now? That just made him feel worse. God, Lindsay. She was his world. Why the hell didn't she want to be with him, anyway? He'd done everything right with her. Okay, so the months of teasing probably hadn't been the best idea, but she had to know that meant he had a crush on her. It was basic elementary school logic, wasn't it, that boys always teased the girls that they liked? But he didn't just tease her. He was concerned and supportive. He did everything she asked. She wanted space; he gave her space. She wanted time; he gave her time. But apparently, two thousand miles and seven months wasn't enough. She pureed his heart and fed it back to him.

Damn, he had the worst fucking luck with women.

He had to get out of there. He couldn't stomach the thought of Flack and Terra together. He slapped some money down on the counter for his drinks and slid unsteadily off his stool. "I'm gonna call it a night," he mumbled, making for the door.

Flack said, "Wait, you gonna help me or not?"

Danny shuddered. "Sure. Sure, man. No problem."

Big problem. Big fucking problem.

He walked home, hoping that the cool night air would clear his senses and settle his stomach. God, the day had started shitty and ended shitty, and tomorrow probably wouldn't be any better.

Terra wasn't his. She wasn't.

Yes, she fucking was.

And so was Lindsay. Lindsay was the one who occupied his every waking thought – and most of his sleeping ones. Lindsay was the one who had taken hold of his heart and dug her nails in tight. Lindsay was the one he wanted to be with for the rest of his life – no bullshit, no games.

But Terra was the one who trusted him with her darkness, with her secrets, with her nightmares. Terra was the one who wasn't afraid to open up to him – who didn't try to deal with her problems alone. Terra was the one who was willing to be with him.

He made it home in one piece, surprisingly, and immediately took another cold shower. He was taking a lot of those lately. He stayed under the spray until he adjusted to the temperature, and then he shut the water off. He was reaching for his towel when he heard the front door open.

Danny froze. He was hardly in the position to do anything, if someone was breaking into his apartment. His piece was on the kitchen counter – his backup was in his bedroom. And he didn't have any clothes on.

"Danny?"

He yanked the towel off the rack and quickly draped it off his hips. "Terra?"

The bathroom door opened just as he reached for the knob, and before he could even blink, Terra had him pressed against the wall. Her lips, latched onto his, stole the very breath from his lungs. He responded instinctively, tangling his fingers in her hair, angling her head to take the kiss deeper.

God, she was a good kisser. After all the times they'd been together, she learned how to kiss him, specifically. She knew the right amount of pressure to use when she stroked her tongue out to touch his. She knew that sucking on his bottom lip drove him crazy. She knew that humming low in the back of her throat could practically make him come on the spot.

Guilt gnawed at his stomach. Guilt at cheating on Lindsay, even though he wasn't. Guilt at kissing a girl Flack had expressed interest in only a couple of hours ago. Guilt for taking advantage of Terra when she was upset and vulnerable, especially after their conversation earlier that day. But he didn't stop kissing her. He couldn't pull himself away. This was familiar. This was comfortable. This was Terra.

After all, Lindsay couldn't be in a relationship with him. Lindsay continually rejected his advances. Lindsay had stomped all over his heart.

Terra broke the kiss, breathless, clinging limply to him. He took in her haggard appearance – her eyes were bloodshot, her hair was a mess, and she was swimming in her brother's Devils jersey.

"You had a nightmare." It wasn't a question. She was only ever like this when she had a nightmare.

She buried her face in his chest, and he stroked her hair. "I didn't want to come. After last night…" She trailed off, choking back a sob. "Can I stay here tonight? We don't need… We don't need to do anything. I just…I need you."

Danny didn't even have to think about it.


	7. Without a Paddle

**A/N: Yeah. I think some of you need to go back to the first chapter and read the little summary thing I have at the beginning – especially the pairings. I'm not kidding. Read. The. Pairings. Seriously.**

**Russian translations are courtesy of…some site. They are at the end of the chapter. Ordinarily, I wouldn't bother, but really, the conversation makes more sense if you can understand what they're saying.**

**Thanks for the continued reviews. I really do appreciate the feedback. I passed 100! This is only my second fic ever to do that, so thank you so much!  
**

**Many thanks, as always, to Blue, Spunky, and Mandy for all their help with this chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Without a Paddle**

Stella felt refreshed for the first time in a while. She had a full seven hours of sleep – the most she'd gotten in years. Even on those rare days when she didn't have to go into work, she never got that much sleep. She'd had a nice relaxing shower and a long, leisurely breakfast. She had a mug of strong coffee. She'd even managed to get in a quick jog. She felt incredible. It was amazing what a difference a good night's sleep made for her outlook on the case. She'd woken up that morning and thought that they might actually have a chance of bringing this killer to justice, diplomatic immunity notwithstanding. She quickly strolled the hallways of the lab, searching for Mac.

She found him in his office, on the phone. From the sound of it, he was attempting to convince a judge to issue them a warrant for the Pamchenko residence – and it didn't seem to be going well. Not that she expected it to, considering the circumstances.

"I understand," Mac was saying. He caught sight of her in the doorway and waved her in. She sat down in the chair opposite him, on the other side of his desk. "But all the evidence we've found ties back to the son. There has to be some way we can… No, I understand that he has immunity and we can't – "

Stella pursed her lips. She wondered to whom Mac was speaking; she knew it had to be a judge – there could be no one else, if he was trying to get a warrant. She ran down the list of judges with whom Mac had a friendly relationship, because they were bound by law to respect the rights of their suspect, so the only way Mac could get a warrant would be by calling in a favor or two. Or twelve. But if anyone had enough favors, it was Mac; sometimes it seemed like everyone in the city owed Mac something.

She reached for one of the frames on Mac's desk and found herself staring at a picture of him and Peyton in front of the arch in Washington Square Park. She couldn't get over how happy Mac looked in the photo; she didn't think she'd seen Mac look that happy since before Claire's death.

"No," Mac said, scrubbing a hand over his face. The resignation in his tone brought Stella out of her reverie. "We haven't requested that he come in for questioning." He sucked in a sharp breath. "Of course we have the FBI's full cooperation."

Stella glanced up sharply. Terra 'assisting' with the investigation was hardly having the full cooperation of the FBI. They didn't even technically have the cooperation of the one agent who actually knew what was going on. Stella was sure they had broken several federal regulations in going to Terra first, instead of her supervisor. In fact, as soon as they learned that their suspect had diplomatic immunity, Terra should have immediately reported the information to her superiors.

She chewed on her thumb knuckle. This was an important case, aside from the political ramifications. The body count alone had brought national attention to the crime lab, and reporters – not to mention the families of the victims – were clamoring for answers. Answers, however, were what the lab didn't have. All they had was speculation, which would do nothing.

Mac sighed. "Of course. I understand." He hung up the phone and buried his face in his hands. "We may have a problem."

"Can't get the warrant?" Stella was aware that she was stating the obvious.

Mac shook his head. "That was the governor." Stella raised her eyebrows. "He isn't happy that we didn't bring this to his attention as soon as we learned about it. His hands are tied. And as of right now, so are ours. All our evidence is circumstantial at best. It isn't going to be good enough to do anything."

Stella furrowed her brow. If the governor couldn't do anything, then certainly a lower-ranking judge would be unable to help. It wouldn't matter how many favors Mac called in. "There has to be something we can do, Mac."

"Well," Mac murmured, standing up and walking over to the window, "we haven't called Pamchenko to ask that he come in for questioning."

"He'll just deny everything," Stella spat, angrily crossing her arms. It should have been the first thing Terra did, calling Pamchenko. "If he even agrees to come. He has to come voluntarily. We can't force him to come down to the station."

"I know," Mac said. "But we're running out of options. We have to find more substantial evidence if we want to have any hope of getting a warrant to search his residence."

"But the only hope we have of getting that kind of evidence is getting into his place."

Mac opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a frantic knocking on the glass. Stella turned around and saw Adam scramble gleefully through the door, bouncing up and down excitedly on the balls of his feet.

Mac raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Find something, Adam?"

Adam grinned. "Well, I finally ran the fiber sample Lindsay brought me yesterday. The DNA from the fiber matches DNA from the epithelials lifted off the counter." He shifted nervously from foot to foot; he always seemed to be nervous around Mac. "Without a reference sample from Pamchenko, I can't make an exact match, but…"

"…but with Pamchenko's fingerprints all over that counter," Stella mused, "it's logical to assume that the DNA belongs to him."

Adam nodded.

"We can't afford to make that leap just yet," Mac said.

"Mac," Stella said, her voice laced with disbelief, "we can prove that he was at the scene. His fingerprint puts him there after the killings. His car fibers are all over that bodega – "

"Fibers consistent with the car he drives are all over that bodega. We can't prove that they came from his vehicle. Not without a DNA reference sample."

"And your odds of getting one just went up," Adam said, stepping further into the room. "After I ran the sample, I called the Russian consulate and talked to one of the receptionists. Not only did Pamchenko have the limo out around the time of the attack, but also no one has seen him yesterday morning. And one of the security guards reported his gun stolen two nights ago."

Stella whirled around to face Mac. "He did it."

Mac raised his eyebrows. "In all likelihood, yes. But we're going to need more than that to prove it."

Stella groaned. It seemed like every time they had a break in the case, every time they took a step forward, they were forced two steps backwards. She threw her hands up in frustration. "This is ridiculous, Mac. There has to be something we can do." She quickly ran down the list of people she knew for certain owed some kind of debt to Mac. "Judge Harper owes you a favor."

Mac smiled slightly. "We're dealing with global politics here, Stella. This isn't exactly in the same league as letting a man slide on a card game."

"I didn't realize you played cards," Adam said, in that same awed tone he always used when addressing Mac.

Stella shook her head. "The fingerprints, the fibers, the bullets, the ATM footage… They all point back to this kid. Not to mention that the car that matches those fibers was out at the time of the murders, and this kid has suddenly disappeared. He wouldn't run if he weren't guilty."

"I'm not disagreeing with you," said Mac, and there was no mistaking the firm tone of his voice, "but we have to tread carefully. One misstep and we'll have the entire FBI breathing down our necks. And if you think Terra's bad, it's nothing compared to her supervisor."

Stella rolled her eyes. She didn't think it was possible for someone to be worse than Terra. The way she had waltzed in and immediately taken control, it made Stella's blood boil. She abruptly stood from the chair, picked up the phone on Mac's desk, and shoved it into his hands. "Call Harper and get the damn warrant, Mac."

With a sigh of resignation, Mac carefully dialed.

An hour later, they were on their way to the Pamchenkos' primary American residence, on Park Avenue. They met Detective Angell in the lobby and rode with her up to the penthouse, where they had to face the Pamchenkos' maid. She spoke to them in rapid Russian, attempting to refuse them entry. Mac and Stella both flashed their badges, doing their best to convince the portly old woman that they had every legal right to be there. In the end, one of the uniforms Angell had brought with her had to physically restrain the woman so that Mac and Stella could get to work.

Stella only hoped they would find something.

* * *

Terra needed a cigarette. 

She recognized the urge, the craving. She noticed the jitters, the headache that refused to go away, the twitches in her eyes. As she wound her way through the precinct, searching the sea of officers for Detective Flack, she unconsciously rubbed her left bicep, where she used to place the patch when she was trying to quit.

Five years since she'd smoked last, and she was dying for some nicotine. Nicotine would be good right now. Something, anything, to soothe her frazzled nerves over the fact that she had once again not gotten any sleep. She'd lain awake for hours, listening to the quiet rhythm of Danny's breathing, hoping that it would lull her to sleep; it had worked in the past, but not this time. This time, she hadn't been able to return to the blissful unawareness of slumber. That was the first time in a long time that Danny's presence hadn't helped battle back the demons.

They hadn't done anything except sleep, his arms wrapped securely around her waist, one hand absently stroking the tattoo on her hip, as he was wont to do. His soothing murmurs faded as he drifted into slumber, and Terra tried to forget, but she couldn't. It scared her. Being with Danny – whether they were taking advantage of her comped hockey tickets or gasping for breath in bed – made her forget about Jake. He made her forget, made her feel alive, made her feel normal – same as she did for him.

And considering that this case would either make or break her career, it was decidedly not good that she hadn't managed to catch any sleep.

She tried and failed to stifle a yawn as she caught sight of a familiar CSI on her way out the door. Monroe wasn't paying attention, her gaze locked on the piece of paper she held in her right hand, and though Terra attempted to step out of the way, the girls ended up colliding. Monroe fell ungracefully onto her backside, dropping both the paper she'd been reading and her crime scene kit. Terra spun and managed to retain her footing, thanking her ballet training for her impeccable balance.

"Sorry about that," Monroe said, laughing awkwardly. She accepted Terra's hand and let herself be pulled to her feet. "Not paying attention."

Terra dismissed her apology with a wave of her hand. "No worries."

Monroe eyed her suspiciously, and Terra shrank back, wondering if perhaps Danny had again bitten her in his sleep. "You look like death," Monroe said, and she stooped to pick up her kit.

Terra couldn't help but smile – blunt and to the point. She liked that. "I feel like death."

"Everything all right?" There was a touch of concern in Monroe's voice, and it startled Terra. She'd been prepared to hate the woman on principle, for a multitude of reasons.

One, Monroe had breezed into the crime lab from Montana and stolen Danny's attention away from Terra. Terra didn't delude herself into thinking she and Danny were in love – they loved each other, yes, but not in that all-consuming way that he loved Monroe – but she still felt a prickle of jealousy every time he mentioned Monroe's name. That prickle turned into a definitive pang every time he referred to her as Montana. Terra was used to being the second most important woman in Danny's life – after his mother – and she didn't like being moved down a rung.

Monroe had robbed Terra of the one constant in her life – Danny. Terra lived with her brother Bullitt, but six months out of the year he was always out of town, and the other six months, he was rarely ever home. Danny had been there for Terra through some of the worst moments of her life. Her post-traumatic stress had only relapsed the once in her ten years in New York, but he had been right by her side the entire time – spent every night with her in the hospital.

Two, Terra had always hated Danny's girlfriends; he had horrible taste in women. She especially hated that bitch, Annie Carmichael, who was so convinced that Terra was in love with Danny that she actually called while they were having sex so that Terra could listen. That had awoken Terra's long dormant vindictive streak. She emailed Annie a message that said, _Funny, when Danny and I have sex, he doesn't have enough blood flow to his brain to even remember my name, let alone scream it. You must be doing something wrong._ Terra came home from work that day to find that someone had keyed the word 'bitch' into Bullitt's Aston Martin Vanquish, obviously thinking it was hers. He was less than thrilled. And the next day, Annie came out of her apartment building to find that all four tires of her Jaguar had been slashed and both headlights had been smashed in.

Three, Monroe had ripped Danny's heart of his chest and fed it to him. Danny was not the type of guy who easily fell in love – or fell in love at all – and he had fallen hard for Monroe. And that night after their infamous conversation, Danny had appeared on Terra's doorstep, his eyes glistening with tears that his New York City upbringing refused to let him shed. Terra's heart had broken for him; she had never seen him look that lost – not until the night that Louie died. And the day Monroe left for Montana and gave him only a card as a goodbye… Terra had played nurse to an extremely drunk Danny much of that night. No one hurt him like that on her watch. His happiness was everything to her.

Terra had always wondered what it would be like to meet this woman face to face; she had a lot of questions. Mainly, she just wanted to ask what the hell Monroe was smoking, to pass up a chance to be with Danny – numerous times. If Danny ever wanted to be with her, she wouldn't even hesitate. Even though he was a Yankees fan.

But she couldn't bring herself to hate the woman. Monroe didn't seem to realize the effect she had on Danny, and Danny was still head over heels in love, and he'd told so many stories about her that Terra felt like she knew her already. Whatever she had gone through that had caused her to push Danny away, it had to have been huge. Terra could hardly fault her for having demons, but she couldn't understand why anyone would ever want to deal with them alone. Plus, Monroe was too damn sweet to actively hate her.

Terra hated that she couldn't hate Monroe. She wanted to hate her. It was just really damn hard.

"Yeah," Terra mumbled, rubbing her hands over her face. "I just didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night." Her stomach gurgled, aggravating the ever-present ulcer. She coughed to cover the noise and rested her weight on the empty desk behind her. She didn't want to get into the reasons behind why she couldn't ever seem to sleep at night, especially with Monroe. "So, are y'all making any headway in the case?"

Monroe smirked a bit at the 'y'all', but nodded, holding up the piece of paper she'd been reading earlier. "Warrant just came in for Dmitri's apartment. I was about to grab Danny and head over there."

"Excellent. If you're able to find anything there that links him to the scene, we might be able to get him to roll over on Pamchenko."

The odds of that happening were slim to nil, but it was the only thing they had to work with. Terra had been in situations like this before, though never anything quite this serious. Normally, she had to deal with foreign diplomats who tried to get out of misdemeanors. Once, a few years ago, she'd had to deal with the fallout after the Armenian ambassador had accidentally run over a kid with his car. The kid survived, but he was paralyzed from the waist down. The ambassador had received a slap on the wrist; he hadn't even been fined.

She hated diplomatic immunity. She hated the very notion that someone could legally get away with such a grisly crime. Her hand automatically rested on her left hip, her index finger slipping just inside the waistband of her pants to finger the scar she knew was there.

"That's the plan," said Monroe, thankfully not noticing the unconscious action. "I'm assuming you're here for the interrogation?"

Terra nodded, yawning once more. "Kozlov's been through this before. He likes to pretend he doesn't speak English." She shook her head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs. "He speaks better English than half the kids that went to my high school."

Monroe laughed, and Terra quirked the corner of her mouth upwards in a grin. It was refreshing to be with someone from the lab who wasn't automatically biased towards her – and Danny didn't count. Taylor and Bonasera absolutely hated her, though Terra had never quite figured out why. She always assumed in had to do with the Chinatown case, one of her first – and last – as a field agent. It had looked, at first, to be a war between two different families in the Chinese mafia. But after analyzing one of the audiotapes found at the scene, Terra had determined that even though the language on the tape was Chinese, the speaker wasn't – the syntax and dialect were all wrong. She voiced her suspicions to Taylor, who didn't share her theory. She sat on it for as long as he could, not anxious to overstep her bounds, but eventually, she had to go over his head.

He had not liked that one bit. Terra got the feeling that Taylor wasn't used to people not respecting his authority. But the fact of the matter was that she didn't work for him, and his refusal to listen to her could have possibly jeopardized the case. As it was, it had cost them valuable time – one of the men guilty of the murders had managed to flee the country in the time it took for her to go to her supervisor with the information. They had gotten a conviction, but the knowledge that one of those men was still out there haunted Terra. And at the conclusion of the case, she learned that Taylor had seriously lobbied to have her removed from her position, but thankfully her supervisor had stood up for her. Terra had made it her personal mission ever since to make Taylor's life hell. No one tried to get her fired and got away with it.

"Flack will get him to crack," Monroe spoke up, bringing Terra back to the present. "He's pretty good at that."

Terra smiled and dropped her gaze to her shoes. She could feel the heat creeping up her cheeks and hoped Monroe missed the blush forming. "I'll just bet he is." She bet he was good at a lot of things. She pursed her lips, debating if she should ask what she was about to ask. "Say… Can I ask you a question?"

Monroe raised her eyebrows. "Shoot."

Terra licked her lips. "Is Flack single?"

She was completely embarrassed to be asking a woman who was, essentially, a stranger a question like that, but she the only other person she could ask was Danny, and she couldn't ask him. Danny would just tell her Flack was gay. Apparently, there were a lot of gay cops. But in all the stories Danny had told her about Flack, he had never once mentioned that he was attractive – and she had a good idea why.

Monroe grinned. "I'm pretty sure. You, uh, planning on asking him out?"

Terra shrugged, desperately trying to keep a straight face. She hadn't been on a date with anyone but Danny or Bullitt in ages – and she hardly could count either of those as 'dates'. Flack intrigued her. And he filled out those suits pretty nicely, though he needed to fire whoever bought him his ties. Plus, he was a good friend of Danny's – Danny didn't trust people easily, so that spoke volumes. "He's cute." She cleared her throat and ran her fingers through her hair. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Sure," Monroe said, the smile never leaving her face.

It was clear from the look on her face that she thought the next question would be Flack-related as well, so Terra decided to throw her a curve ball. "Did you really eat bugs?"

Monroe's laughter rang out through the precinct, causing more than one officer to glance in the women's direction. "Yeah. Although I really only did it because Danny obviously thought no one would."

Terra shook her head, smiling. She knew that feeling all too well. She and Danny had both eaten Rocky Mountain Oysters once because they were so sure the other one wouldn't. Granted, they both spit them out, but still. "I can't believe you ate bugs. I wouldn't even eat my grandmother's tomato jello until Danny called me a wuss."

"Oh." Something about Monroe's tone gave Terra pause. "I didn't know that you and Danny were that close."

Terra frowned. She didn't know? What the hell? There were some nights that Danny didn't shut up about Monroe, Flack, and the others, and none of them even knew about her? The realization hit Terra like a physical blow. She nearly staggered backwards from the force of it. She figured Danny wouldn't be spreading around the details of their recently revived friends with benefits situation – which he'd only taken advantage of a grand total of once since Monroe's return from Montana – but for Monroe not to even know that Terra and Danny were friends at all? Was he seriously that ashamed of her?

Had no one noticed that Danny was the only one whom Terra referred to by his first name? That he knew about her trip to Europe – the one where she got six parking and three speeding tickets and attempted to talk her way out of them by using her immunity? That she was number two on his speed dial, after his mother? Terra had assumed, when Lindsay hadn't asked how she knew about the bug dinner, that she was aware of her friendship with Danny. She was apparently mistaken.

He was her best friend, and she didn't even matter to him.

_Someone in this damn precinct has got to have a fucking cigarette._

She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by Flack, who was striding towards them, waving his arm frantically, as though Terra wouldn't be able to see him. It was so cute. "McQueen!" he called. "You coming? Or did you want an engraved invitation?"

Monroe chuckled softly as Flack approached. "Charming as always, Flack."

Flack flashed a smile, and Terra felt her spirits lift slightly. Something about his eyes. They were such an unnatural color of blue. "Monroe," Flack said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "shouldn't you be on your way somewhere?"

"Yeah, yeah," Monroe said, tightening her grip on her case and waving the warrant in his face. "I'm going."

"You find anything at that apartment, you call me!" Flack yelled at her retreating back.

"Thanks," she said over her shoulder, disappearing through the double doors. "I remember how to do my job."

He turned to look at Terra, and she gave him a half-grin, shyly glancing away before allowing her eyes to come to rest on the horrible paisley tie that clashed with the pinstripe shirt he was wearing. She gently tugged on the tie, adjusting the knot – a nervous habit she used to do with Danny, back when he wore suits to work. "I think you need to fire your personal shopper. This tie is hideous."

He laughed, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "Hey. I like my ties."

"Well, someone ought to," she murmured, stepping away and immediately regretting the loss of contact. "So… Interrogation?"

Terra jumped as she felt his hand on the small of her back, and he quickly withdrew it, looking embarrassed. She chewed on her bottom lip; the touch hadn't been unpleasant – quite the opposite, in fact – just unexpected. She smiled reassuringly at him and started walking towards the interrogation rooms. Flack eventually fell in step with her, then abruptly grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into the observation room.

When she looked through the window, she saw Dmitri Kozlov seated at the table. Kozlov was in his late twenties, probably only a year or two younger than Terra herself, with a very pronounced chin and eyebrows that made Terra want to reach for her tweezers. His abnormally large fingers drummed on the table as he muttered to himself in Russian.

Flack gestured at Kozlov with his head. "You want to take the lead on this? You are the one that speaks Russian."

Terra shook her head slowly. She'd called her supervisor as soon as she learned that Pamchenko was a suspect, wanting to know how she should proceed. Technically, the case fell under FBI jurisdiction, so a Bureau forensics team should have taken over evidence collection. However, Terra's supervisor seemed confident that she could handle it herself. Terra, on the other hand, continued to let the lab run with the case. As much as she couldn't stand Taylor and Bonasera, they were extremely good at what they did – albeit not very trusting of her. If they knew she was in charge, they would never listen to her, and nothing would ever get done. This case was far too important to let something so petty ruin it. "Nah. It's all you, Detective."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"From what I understand," Terra said, running her tongue along her bottom lip, "you're good at making people crack."

He cleared his throat and shrugged in a bad parody of indifference. "I don't like to brag…"

She laughed. "You should. It's important to take pride in your work."

He stared at her for a long moment, then walked out without a word. Terra wondered if she had said something wrong, but seconds later, she saw him enter the interrogation room and sit directly opposite Kozlov. "Dmitri," Flack said, "you've got some explaining to do."

Kozlov smiled, though it was more of a sneer than anything. "_Вы не можете сделать любую вещь к мне._"

"Give it up. I know you speak English. And it would sure make my life a hell of a lot easier if you just cooperated."

"_Вы не знаете ничего._"

Flack furrowed his brow and cast a pleading look at the observation room. Terra shook her head, smiling, and made her way next door into interrogation. As soon as she walked through the door, Kozlov's eyes widened. She waggled her fingers at him, the tip of her tongue sticking out from between her teeth, and leaned nonchalantly against the wall, crossing her legs at the ankles and folding her arms across her chest.

Kozlov rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. Terra couldn't quite make it out, but it sounded like 'bitch'.

"You don't want to see me?" Terra said, infusing her tone with as much mocking as she could muster. She had to be careful, she knew. She had called Nicholai Pamchenko the day before and asked to speak to his son, only to be informed that no one had seen the young man for several days. That could mean anything, logically. It could mean that he had committed this horrible crime and had taken off to hide. Or it could mean that he had disappeared on one of his frequent 'retreats', where he went to Atlantic City. And if Terra were to be honest with herself, the idea of Pamchenko hiding was ludicrous. If he were guilty, he would know that there was legally nothing they could do to him, so hiding would be unnecessary. Therefore, Kozlov was their only real link to him. "I'm hurt. Seriously. You wound me."

"That's no way to make a girl feel special," Flack said, either immediately picking up on her vibe or like this in spite of her presence. Judging from Danny's stories, she would guess the latter. It was reassuring – someone who followed her on interrogation technique. "Of course, with that Bert eyebrow thing you got going on there, I wouldn't be surprised if women were still a bit of a mystery to you."

Terra couldn't help but laugh.

Kozlov snarled, his upper lip curling in an extremely unattractive sneer. "_Держите ваш язык, __шлюха_"

It took an extraordinary amount of self-control not to flip him off.

"We have footage of you outside of a bodega – the same bodega that was robbed yesterday morning. Nine people were killed." Flack pursed his lips, his brow furrowed. "But you wouldn't know anything about that."

In response, Kozlov spit in the detective's face. Flack stood up so quickly that his chair was thrown backwards. He started across the table, and Terra immediately left her station by the wall to restrain him. She gripped his right arm tightly with both hands, digging her nails into his flesh in the manner that had always worked when attempting to get her brothers' attention, but Flack was deceptively strong. Terra had to plant both feet on the ground and summon every ounce of strength she possessed in order to keep Flack from doing any bodily harm to their only real lead.

And it was wrong – so very wrong – that all she could think about was how unbelievably sexy Flack looked when he was angry.

She finally managed to get him slightly calmed down and settled back in his chair. And then Kozlov had to go and open his stupid mouth.

"_Это - преследование._"

Terra very calmly removed her piece from her hip holster and placed it on the table in front of Flack. Bracing both hands on the table, she leaned forward until she was inches from Kozlov's face. "Play nice, Kozlov. All the nice detective wants to do is ask you some questions. Need I remind you that my family motto is, 'Shoot first and don't ask questions'?"

Grinding his teeth loudly, Kozlov angrily folded his arms and settled back against his chair, focusing his steely-eyed gaze on Flack. He gave a small nod of acquiescence, and Terra wanted nothing more than to take a page out of Flack's book and vault the table to wring the smarmy little bastard's neck. Her fingers clenched reflexively.

Flack immediately got to the point, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Where were you yesterday morning around 11:30?"

The way he said it, there was no denying that he was a guy used to dealing with scum and getting results from them. To the casual observer – who hadn't witnessed his earlier outburst – he was the picture of calm. But Terra could see the muscles in his jaw twitch and his bright blue eyes flash with a dangerous kind of anger that immediately caused a familiar heat to settle in Terra's hips. She shifted position ever so slightly, hoping that no one noticed.

She knew that the anger was simmering just under the surface, waiting to be released. The thoughts that accompanied that knowledge made her flush.

"_С вашей матью_," Kozlov spat.

Terra pulled her backup from the ankle holster and placed it next to her other gun. "_Сократите ерунду._"

With a disgruntled sigh, Kozlov said, "I was at the consulate, preparing for Ambassador Pamchenko's meeting with the governor." His sentence structure was perfect, his pronunciation immaculate, his accent thick but not impossible to understand. He continued to drum his fingers on the table. "I had to run over his schedule, make some last minute adjustments."

"Can anyone confirm that?" Flack asked, and there was no mistaking the disbelief in his tone. It wasn't without justification either. Terra knew for a fact that the diplomat's meeting with the governor had been rescheduled for the following week. She knew that because she was required to be there, in order to translate for the older Pamchenko, whose English was not very good. She chose to say nothing, however. She wanted to see what else Kozlov would lie about.

"I would say not," Kozlov growled. He cracked his knuckles, and Terra gave an involuntary flinch. She hated when people cracked their knuckles. "It is the mark of a good aide to neither be seen nor heard."

"Sounds like a shitty aide to me," Flack remarked bemusedly, staring at his fingernails with interest. "How can you tell your boss where to be if he can't see you or hear you?"

Kozlov grunted. "I am invisible at the consulate. Most of the employees do not even remember my name unless they want something from the ambassador."

Flack grinned, and Terra felt her knees grow weak. "Sucks to be you, doesn't it, Dmitri?"

"I was not educated in Moscow to be the errand boy for a feeble old man and his family." Kozlov gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. "I studied politics. I wanted to make a difference in my country."

"Noble," Flack said, his voice oozing sarcasm. "Why so interested in the bodega?"

"I am sure I do not know what you mean. The other night, I took a stroll down Park Avenue. I do not often get the opportunity to sightsee when we are in America. I took advantage of a little free time. Perhaps this is when you saw me on this tape of yours?"

Flack glanced at Terra, and she shrugged. The timestamp on the surveillance tape had read 10:30 pm. It was an odd time to sightsee, but it wasn't entirely out of the question. New York was 'the city that never sleeps', after all. It was possible that he was telling the truth, but Terra didn't think he was. No one would put up that much of a fuss and then just give in, no matter what Terra had threatened. Especially when he was already lying about his alibi.

"Where's Alexi Pamchenko?" Flack asked.

Kozlov gave a half-hearted shrug. "I believe, a few days ago, he mentioned that he would be taking a trip out of town. I am not privileged enough to know the destination. He does not share such things with me."

"But surely, as his father's personal aide, you would have a number where we could reach him?"

"I would," Kozlov said, "but I do not believe you have the authority to request such information, Detective. In case you were not aware, the entire Pamchenko family has diplomatic immunity. They are above your country's laws and prosecution. Were I to give you his phone number, I would be violating Alexi's rights."

Terra growled low in her throat, and both men turned to look at her. She raised her eyebrows.

"Is that all, Detective?" Kozlov asked. Whereas at the start of the interrogation, he had been hostile and uncooperative, now he sounded bored with the whole situation. "My presence is needed at the consulate."

Flack groaned but nodded. "Yeah. Go." He and Terra followed Kozlov out into the hall, where Flack had some parting words for the young man. "But don't leave town."

"Of course not," said Kozlov. His nostrils flared. "I cannot leave unless the Pamchenkos grant me leave." And then he turned on his heel and marched off down the hall.

"What do you think?" Flack asked once Kozlov had disappeared through the double doors.

Terra cocked an eyebrow, her eyes on the still-swinging doors. "He's lying." That much was obvious. But what all was he lying about? That was a much more complicated question, and the answer wasn't nearly as evident.

"You think he's covering for Pamchenko?"

She lifted one shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug. "I think twenty-five years in an American prison would be preferable to whatever they'd do to him if they found out he talked." She chanced a glance at him. "What do you think?"

Flack sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. "I think if Danny and Lindsay don't find something at that kid's apartment, we're up shit creek without a paddle."

* * *

Lindsay was turning her conversation with Terra over in her mind. Something the other woman had said stuck with her. Actually, she hadn't so much said it as implied it, but Lindsay could think of nothing else, regardless. She tried to recall every conversation she and Danny had ever had where he might have mentioned Terra. From what Terra said, she and Danny were good friends, but Lindsay couldn't ever remember him having talked about her at all. 

Danny very rarely talked about his past or his personal life. Lindsay didn't even know he had a brother until Louie called him out of the blue one day. He hadn't spoken of any friends outside the department except for someone named Rocky, and even then, he wasn't specific with the details. It was always just like, "Oh, I'm heading to the game with Rocky tonight," when she asked him if he had plans for his night off.

Could Terra and Rocky be one and the same? And if so, why had Danny never mentioned that Rocky was a woman? And what the hell kind of nickname was Rocky, anyway? Lindsay wondered if it should matter that the only person outside his professional life Danny ever talked about was a woman that wasn't his girlfriend. Lindsay didn't even know if Danny had girlfriends – she assumed that he did, given the rumors she heard about him, but he never brought it up, and she wasn't about to ask. He was a grown man and allowed to have female friends. Lindsay had male friends, back in Montana. She just found it hard to believe that he could be so close with a woman as attractive as Terra and not be sleeping with her, especially considering that he hadn't seen fit to talk about her with Lindsay, let alone introduce the two of them.

A lead ball dropped into Lindsay's stomach. Suppose they had slept together? Or were still sleeping together? Lindsay had told him that she couldn't be in a relationship with him, had continually turned down his advances since coming back to New York. She'd all but pushed him into Terra's waiting arms. True, she and Danny weren't dating, but he said that there was something between them, that they had chemistry. She had known, even then, that he was lying about only wanting dinner, drinks, and a few laughs. She could tell by the way he tripped over his words that he wanted something more. She had hoped that, when she finally dealt with her past, he would be waiting for her. Could she really have been so wrong about him, about what they had?

What did they have? If Lindsay had to be honest with herself, they didn't really have anything. They had the ghost of a promise, nothing more. He had once told her that if she needed anything, just to let him know. The card she gave him before she left for Montana… She hadn't written out verbatim everything she had wanted to say to him, but he should have been able to read between the lines. She had signed the card 'Montana' for crying out loud – a name she had protested nearly every day since he had given it to her.

Had she missed her chance?

The drive over to Dmitri Kozlov's apartment passed in relative silence as Lindsay stared out the window of the department-issue vehicle, completely lost in thought. Danny, meanwhile, sang softly along with the radio. She had never heard him sing before. She didn't even know he could. But he had a relatively decent voice. He wasn't going to be winning any karaoke contests any time soon, but he didn't sound terrible, either.

"I didn't know you could sing," she said, by way of making conversation.

He grinned and threw her a wink. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Montana."

She couldn't help but think how true that was. But she wanted to know. She wanted to know everything about him. She wanted to know what he was like as a little kid and why he had decided to become a CSI. She wanted to know what he looked like first thing in the morning and what he tasted like. She wasn't going to lose Danny without a fight. She'd waited too long to find a guy like him to let him slip through her fingers after they'd been through so much. She raised her eyebrows and flashed him a bit of a smile. "So tell me something."

He furrowed his brow, casting a quick glance at her before returning his eyes to the road. "Like what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know… What made you become a CSI?"

He laughed. "Easy. Broke my wrist in a bar fight and couldn't play baseball anymore."

She raised her eyebrows. "You played baseball?" He nodded. "What position?"

"Shortstop." He gave a triumphant cry as he found a spot directly in front of Dmitri's building and pulled the van over to the curb. He threw it into park and rubbed his hands together eagerly. "All right, let's process an apartment."

Dmitri lived in on the tenth floor of a building that didn't have an elevator. By the seventh floor, Lindsay's legs were burning. She made a mental note that she needed to start going back to the gym. She'd never considered herself out of shape, but this was just too much, especially since she was lugging half the equipment. She had to duck a couple of times to avoid being smacked in the face by the tripod, which Danny was carrying.

"Remind me to hit the stair machine again," she grunted as they finally reached Dmitri's floor.

"Tell me about it," Danny muttered, setting down his kit and the tripod so that he could open the door to the apartment.

"Somehow I hardly think that you would need to work out," Lindsay murmured, taking the opportunity to get a good look as Danny bent over to pick up his kit.

He glanced back over his shoulder and caught her staring. The grin that threatened to split his face in two was far too delicious for words. "You'd be surprised."

They split up – Danny headed into the bedroom and Lindsay took the kitchen – and set about processing, though there was surprisingly very little to process. It was the complete opposite of the bodega yesterday. Then, they'd had so much evidence that it was impossible to tell what was relevant and what was just trash. Now, there was nothing. The apartment was clean – not just clean, sterile. They would occasionally call out to each other if they found something interesting, but it was usually followed by a, "Damn, never mind." It was frustrating. At one point, Lindsay groaned and slammed her palm against the counter.

Danny poked his head around the bedroom door. "Y'alright in there, Linds?"

She tried not to let the frustration creep into her voice, but she was sure she failed. "Are you finding anything?"

"Not even dust bunnies. You?"

"There are clean rooms in medical research facilities that are jealous of this place."

His laughter rang out through the apartment, and a few minutes later, he joined her in the main room. "Y'know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think no one lives here. But if no one lived here, there'd be dust. I haven't sneezed once!"

Lindsay giggled and immediately clapped her hand over her mouth. Danny smiled, and his eyes lit up. She hadn't seen him smile like that in months. Emboldened, she heard herself go, "You hungry?"

His eyes widened slightly, and so did the grin on his face. "I could eat."

She felt a weight lift off her heart. The look on his face… There was no way he didn't still feel something for her. She put her fingerprint brush back in her kit. "I was about to say we should probably get this evidence back to the lab, but – "

Danny snorted. "What evidence?" He balanced the tripod on his shoulder once again. "The only good that came from lugging this all the way up here was that I worked on my triceps."

Feeling slightly brave, Lindsay reached forward and gave his bicep a squeeze. "Looks pretty good to me."

She quickly turned on her heel and left, but not before seeing his shocked expression. Were there any flies in the apartment, Danny would have been catching them in his mouth. Lindsay made sure she put a little extra sashay in her walk, though the forensics jumpsuit she was wearing was hardly flattering.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting across from each other in a deli, laughing over their cups of coffee.

"And then," Danny said, barely able to form the words through his laughter, "we were asked never to return to the zoo."

Lindsay was racked with one of those silent laughing fits. Her shoulders were shaking so hard that they hurt. She'd asked, all innocence, how long he and Terra had known each other, expecting him to brush off her inquiry and change the subject. Instead, he started telling stories of the trouble the two of them used to get into.

"You have no idea how vindicating it was to get to march back into that place last year," he said. "I even got to see the security guard who tossed us out in the first place. It was awesome."

They were still laughing when their food arrived a few minutes later. Lindsay waited a moment or two, and then asked, as nonchalantly as possible, "So, I was thinking… We should set Flack and Terra up."

Danny choked on his sandwich.

"Are you all right?" she asked, more concerned with his reaction than the fact that he'd choked.

He nodded, pounding on his chest. "Yeah. I'm good. You, uh…you want to set up Flack and Terra?"

"Yeah," Lindsay said, trying to gauge how he felt on the subject. Danny was a hard man to read. "I mean, they're both unattached. And she asked if he was single."

"She did?" His voice sounded strangled.

Lindsay licked her lips. "She said he was cute." She paused, her heart sinking again. "Is there something wrong?"

He caught her gaze and held it, shaking his head. "No." The softly vehement way he said it left no room for interpretation. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, as though steeling himself for a difficult confession. Lindsay held her breath. "Look, the thing about me and Terra is – "

He was interrupted by the theme from _Rocky_. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, casting an apologetic glance at Lindsay.

Bypassing his usual greeting of 'Messer', he said, "How you doin'?" There was a pause, and he pursed his lips, obviously not pleased with the response he received. "What, a man can't have lunch? No, we didn't find anything at the apartment. The place was clean – too clean. Think the kitchen at your parent's house."

That settled it. Terra was Rocky. Lindsay wasn't sure whether to be worried or relieved.

"Were you guys able to get anything out of him? Really? Huh. Then we're gonna have to go another way. Linds and I will be there right after we finish lunch, all right? Okay." He hung up.

"Interrogation didn't go so well?" Lindsay asked. She desperately wanted to ask him what he had been about to say before his phone rang, but she knew that the case was the more pressing issue. She had plenty of time to ask him about the other thing.

Danny shook his head and started right back in on his sandwich. "Nope. Guy's definitely hiding something, though." He took a long gulp of coffee and then used his mug to gesture at her. "All right, Montana. It's your turn. Pony up."

Lindsay furrowed her brow, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I told a story, now you have to tell a story. Fair is fair."

She smiled softly. "Well, there was this one time in college…"

* * *

**_Вы не можете сделать любую вещь к мне _– You can't do anything to me.**

**_Вы не знаете ничего –_ You know nothing.**

**_Держите ваш язык, _**_**шлюха – Hold your tongue, bitch.**_

**_Это – преследование _ - This is harassment.**

**_С вашей матью _– With your mother.**

**_Сократите ерунду_ – Cut the bullshit.**


	8. Unprofessional

**A/N: Thanks as always to Blue, Spunky, and Mandy for all their help with this chapter.  
**

* * *

** Chapter Eight: Unprofessional**

Flack and Terra sat at his desk in the precinct, side by side. He faced one direction, and she faced the other. They both had their feet propped up. He was tossing a baseball to himself, and she was reading one of his old issues of_ Sports Illustrated _that he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. He had the _Sports Illustrateds_ to cover up his _Playboys_.

"We could charge him with accessory," Terra said after a silence, not even looking up from her reading.

Flack shook his head. They had been doing this ever since Dmitri left – sitting in near silence, only talking to each other when one of them had a thought. Unfortunately, whatever one of them came up with, the other one generally shot down. "We can't prove he had anything to do with it."

Terra sighed and dropped her head back to stare at the ceiling. Somehow, he had a feeling she knew she was grasping at straws. "So then conspiracy is out, too."

"Most likely." He turned to look at her. It might not have been obvious, considering that she was seemingly engrossed in the rundown of the NHL playoffs, but he could tell that the case was getting to her. Her eyes were heavy; her skin was sunken and drawn, particularly in the cheeks. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, strands framing her face. But she still looked amazing. "What exactly are we hoping to accomplish with Dmitri?"

Without even glancing up from her magazine, she said, "If we can offer up enough substantial proof to the ambassador, he might be willing to rescind Pamchenko's immunity."

Flack raised his eyebrows and tossed the baseball in the air, catching it effortlessly. "You really think he'd do that to his own son?"

Terra lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "If we could prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that his son was responsible for the murder of nine people, I don't think he'd have any other choice."

"That's assuming Danny and Lindsay find something at Dmitri's apartment."

She tossed the magazine over Flack, so that it slid across his desk. It stopped just short of slipping onto the floor. "I'm going to call Danny."

Flack looked up sharply, forgetting that he has just tossed the ball in the air until it nailed him in the face. "Holy fuck!" He immediately covered his throbbing cheek with his hands. Holy hell, it felt like someone had punched him in the damn face wearing brass knuckles.

Terra paused in her dialing and glanced down at the floor, her eyes following the ball as it rolled away. She turned to him. "Y'alright?"

He glared at her and pulled his hands away from his face. He couldn't see it, but he knew his cheek had to be bright red. "Does this look all right?"

She smiled sweetly at him. "Looks like it hurts like hell." She reached into her messenger bag, pulled out an ice pack, and dropped it on his chest. "There you go."

His eyes still narrowed, he gingerly placed the pack against the side of his face. "Linds said she'd call if they found something."

"Yeah, well, I don't trust the two of them when they're together," Terra said with a smirk.

Flack furrowed his brow. The last thing he had heard, Danny and Lindsay were still treading water. He knew Danny was head over heels in love with Lindsay, and she seemed to return his feelings, though she wasn't quite as obvious about it. "You know something I don't?"

"Yeah," Terra laughed. "Russian."

Out of the corner of his good eye, he saw her flip her phone open again. She hit a couple of buttons and put the phone up to her ear. She didn't say 'hello' or have to identify herself when Danny answered. He seemed to know it was her, which Flack found odd.

"_Difettosa_," Terra said, locking eyes with Flack. "Where the hell are you? No, Danny, you can't eat. Eating is forbidden. Did you - ? Nothing? How do you find nothing? How clean? Wow… That's clean."

There was something about her voice that had Flack on edge. There was a softness in it that he couldn't quite explain, that only seemed to be present when she was talking to Danny. He'd asked Danny how well he knew Terra, and his answer, Flack could tell, had been forced. 'Well enough' – what did that even mean? What the hell kind of answer was that? Flack knew that Danny had known Terra a long time – he'd still been on patrol during the Chinatown case, but he'd heard about it. The whole country had heard about it. He knew both Terra and Danny had worked that case. When Flack and Danny would go out drinking, Danny would piss and moan about the obnoxious FBI agent who was assisting with the case; Flack could only assume he meant Terra. But after a while, the complaints stopped. Flack had never really thought about it before, but could there be something going on with Terra and Danny?

Flack shook his head, which made his cheek throb again. That was ridiculous. Danny was totally ga-ga over Monroe; anyone could see that. He'd been mooning over the girl from Montana ever since she'd waltzed up to the tiger cage to see Mac. He got this big dopey grin on his face every time she looked at him. There was no way there could be anything between him and someone else. Danny may not have had the best track record when it came to long-term relationships, but he was not the type of guy who ran around on his girlfriends.

Still… That light in her eyes… Someone wasn't telling him something. Not that he should be all that surprised.

"Not a damn thing. No, I lied. Yeah, I'm shocked. Tell me something I don't know, Dan. All right, you two finish your date and then get your asses back here." Her voice was teasing, and her eyes were shining. She waggled her tongue a little bit on the word 'date'. "Okay? Okay." She hung up.

"Who keeps ice packs in their bag?" He shifted the pack and winced. He couldn't wait to explain the bruise that would soon develop to the rest of the boys in the precinct. Under normal circumstances, he could handle a little good-natured ribbing, but the way things had been lately, they would be a little less teasing and a little more vindictive.

"Someone with older brothers, who's used to dealing with bruises."

Flack raised his eyebrows. Older brothers? That was never good. "You got brothers?" She nodded and deposited her phone in her bag. "How many?"

Terra leaned over, took the ice pack from him, and pressed it harder against his cheek. He flinched, and she chucked softly. "Baby," she murmured, smiling. "I have eight."

"Eight?" He sure hoped he was imagining the squeak in his voice. Eight older brothers could present a problem. One older brother often presented a problem. Flack had dealt with more older brothers than he cared to count – both in his personal and professional life. He wasn't sure which one was worse, but he was inclined to lean towards the brothers he dealt with in his personal life. At least when he faced brothers in the context of the job, he knew he had nothing to do with why they were so angry.

"We're Catholic," she said, as if that should explain everything. Flack thought it a weak excuse. His family was Catholic, and he didn't have eight siblings.

She removed the ice pack and lightly touched his injured cheek. He inhaled sharply, more from the feel of her fingers against his skin than the pain, and he couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw the briefest smile flash across her features. "So are we," he said.

"Well, then my mother will love you." Terra replaced the ice pack, pressing it firmly against his skin. "My last boyfriend was Baptist. You would've thought I was dating the antichrist."

He raised his eyebrows, wondering if she realized what she'd just said. But she either didn't seem to notice what she had inferred, or she didn't care. He sincerely hoped it was the second one. He cleared his throat. "So… Are you all close?"

She nodded, smiling sadly. Her face softened, though some of the light faded from her eyes. He couldn't take his eyes off her; she was entrancing. "Yeah. Tommy's the oldest, and he's only nine years older than me. I'm closest with Bullitt, though. He and I share a place uptown."

Flack snorted, and Terra's brow furrowed. "Your brother's name is Bullitt? What, is your dad a Steve McQueen fan?"

Terra just stared at him. "Yes."

"Oh."

Her phone rang shrilly, and she turned to fish it out of her bag, still using one hand to press the ice pack against Flack's cheek. He mentally cursed himself for that remark. Damn it. He'd basically made fun of her brother's name. Definitely not the way to win her over. She effortlessly flipped the phone open and brought it to her ear. "McQueen."

The timbre of her voice changed abruptly, becoming brusque and businesslike. Judging by the way she'd answered her phone, he gathered that she was speaking to one of her fellow agents. "Whoa, Polk. Slow down. What are you talking about? What warrant?" She pushed her chair away, and Flack grabbed the ice pack as it slipped from his face. "I didn't authorize a search warrant. What judge would possibly grant a – ? How many times has the ambassador called?"

The tension in her tone was palpable. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling it slightly from its ponytail. "I swear I had no idea. I never would have – " She sighed resignedly, slumping in her chair. "Yes. Understood. I can be there in twenty minutes." She shut her phone with a snap and turned back to Flack. "Um…make sure you put a damp warm rag on that, to keep the swelling down. I'll…uh…I'll…" She trailed off, and unless he was mistaken, her bottom lip was trembling. "Yeah, I have to go." And with that, she turned and made for the door.

Flack scrambled out of his chair, dropping the ice pack, and catching her before she made it to the doors. "What's up?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm about to be fired, and I'd really like to just get it over with, so I'll see you later, okay? I expect I'll be wanting to get plastered tonight. We could make it a group thing." She offered him a shaky smile. "You can keep the ice pack."

She had barely been gone thirty seconds before Officer Jenkins found him. "Detective Flack, the chief wants to see you."

Flack's stomach turned cold. Nothing good ever followed that sentence. "The chief? What for?"

Jenkins shrugged. "I don't know. Sounds important, though. Something about an ambassador and an illegal search warrant."

Flack cocked an eyebrow. For someone who didn't know, he seemed to know an awful lot. Terra had mentioned an ambassador and a warrant on the phone. But the two of them had been in the precinct all day, and as the lead detective on the case, no one should have served any search warrants without his knowledge. In fact, the only warrant he knew about was the one he'd given Lindsay that morning, which the governor had personally approved. There was really no explanation for how another…

Mac.

Flack gritted his teeth. It had to be Mac.

That settled it. As soon as he was done getting his ass handed to him on a platter, he was going to go kick some serious Marine ass.

* * *

Hawkes knew he had his work cut out for him when Mac and Stella returned from their excursion with bags upon bags of evidence for him to process. For a moment, all he could do was gape at the mountain of work that lay before him. Then he picked up the nearest bag and set to work.

It wasn't until he was halfway through the evidence that he realized what a gold mine Mac and Stella had hit. In one of the bags, carefully labeled, was an Sh-18 double action pistol. Hawkes quickly put away the hairbrush he was processing to book it to the ballistics lab and do a test fire. He did not want to get excited yet, but it was entirely possible that he was holding the murder weapon in his gloved hands.

He eagerly set up the lab for a test fire. It seemed to take an eternity for him to cook up the ballistics gel; it didn't usually take that long. Of course, maybe it just seemed to take so long because he was holding the key piece of evidence in their multiple homicide case. He was surprised Mac had not processed the gun himself. Mac had run all the bullets; Mac had realized that the bullets were armor-piercing rounds and identified the model of the gun. Mac surely would want to be the one to compare the striations.

Hawkes was so anxious that he nearly dropped the gun as he stepped up to the line to fire. If this was indeed the murder weapon… If they could tie this gun to Pamchenko… They might actually stand a real chance of closing this case. He fired a bullet, doing his best to tighten up his wrists but still suffering a little kickback from the force of the shot. He wasn't sure if he would ever become accustomed to firing a gun.

He fished the test bullet out of the gel and took it back to the trace lab to compare the striations from the bullets Stella had collected from the crime scene.

They matched.

Hawkes let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. This was the murder weapon. Now, it was time to see if they could tie this to Pamchenko. He reached for his fingerprint dust.

A frantic knock on the glass distracted Hawkes from his task. He glanced up and saw Flack hovering in the doorway, looking very much like a cobra ready to strike. Hawkes sincerely hoped that whomever Flack was angry with, it wasn't him. He would not want to be on the receiving end of that icy stare.

"You seen Mac?"

Hawkes shook his head quickly, then hurriedly put away the evidence so that he could follow Flack as he continued his search for Mac. Hawkes wondered what could have possibly happened to have the detective so upset, because as he stormed his way through the crime lab, it almost seemed that the temperature was dropping with every step he took. Hawkes did his best to stay behind Flack, so as not to draw attention to himself, but Flack did not even realize that he was being followed.

Mac, as it turned out, was in his office. The door was closed, and rather than knocking, Flack barged right in. "What the hell is your problem?"

Hawkes raised his eyebrows. He had never heard Flack speak to Mac in that manner. He had never heard anyone speak to Mac in that fashion. He knew that they were all on edge, because of the case, but what reason could Flack possibly have to be so angry with Mac?

"I beg your pardon?" Mac asked, his voice betraying the quiet fury he was obviously feeling. He, clearly, was unused to being confronted in such a way. Hawkes knew he was no stranger to confrontation – Stella was not afraid to speak her mind, and Danny had gotten in the man's face once or twice – but most of the disagreements had not started like that.

"Are you trying to get me fired?" Flack snarled. "Because if you are, you're doing a damn good job. I damn near lost my badge because of you!"

Hawkes blinked. A glance around the lab revealed that everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch the argument. And it was this lab to which Danny and Lindsay chose that moment to return. Both of them seemed extremely confused as they made their way through the abnormally silent halls to stand next to Hawkes, who was rooted to his spot just outside of Mac's office.

"What's going on?" Danny whispered.

Hawkes could say nothing. He only pointed.

"What are you talking about, Flack?" There was just a hint of disbelief in Mac's tone, and it only served to make Flack angrier.

"That little stunt you pulled today," Flack spat, his voice so venomous that Hawkes almost didn't recognize it, "may have cost us the case."

"What stunt?" Lindsay asked quietly.

"What stunt?" Mac echoed, bracing his hands on his desk.

"Don't give me that," Flack said. "You know damn well which stunt. Unless you served more than one illegal warrant today."

Hawkes cast a wary glance back in the direction of the trace lab, and then looked at Danny and Lindsay, who wore identical looks of confusion. Hawkes knew they had been processing Dmitri's apartment all morning, and probably had no idea what had been going on at the lab in their absence. Hawkes hadn't questioned the bags of evidence Stella had asked him to process; it hadn't occurred to him to do so. He trusted Mac and Stella with his life – of course he trusted them to do their jobs.

Mac sighed heavily. "Don – "

"Damnit, Mac! What the hell were you thinking? Calling in a favor to get a warrant for people with diplomatic immunity based on information Adam found out?"

Danny whistled lowly, shaking his head. Lindsay gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth. Hawkes could only stare at his feet.

"What the hell kind of authority does Adam have to get background information?" Flack barked. "I'm sorry, I missed the memo where we decided to let the lab techs run the investigation!"

Mac squared his shoulders, but Hawkes could tell from the look on his face that there wasn't much he could do to argue with what Flack was saying. Adam was a lab tech; he wasn't officially involved with the investigation, and since he wasn't considered part of the police department, he didn't have any authority to do anything other than run the samples the CSIs brought him. He was a good tech, anxious to please Mac and to do whatever he could to help, and Hawkes knew that they sometimes relied to heavily on information he gleaned as he was trying to make sense of the evidence they gave him to process.

"Adam goes above and beyond the call of duty – " Mac started to defend his tech, but Flack did not let him get far.

"Above and beyond my ass, Mac. There are some things that a lab tech shouldn't do, and that's one of them! They have diplomatic immunity! Do you have any idea how much shit we're all in? The governor has been calling me every five minutes. Any evidence you may have gotten from the Pamchenkos' has been deemed inadmissible."

Hawkes made a noise in the back of his throat. When Danny and Lindsay turned to look at him, he said, "I spent four hours processing that."

"The worst of it is that's probably the only evidence we're going to get," Lindsay said. "We came up empty at Dmitri's."

"Don." There was a hint of warning in Mac's tone, but Flack ignored it. "We may have found the murder weapon. It has Pamchenko's prints all over it."

Hawkes sucked in a sharp breath. He hadn't gotten the chance to print the gun yet. He also hadn't had the opportunity to page Mac with his findings. He and the others liked to joke that Mac knew everything, but seriously, how could the man possibly know that?

"Fabulous," Flack grunted, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "Can't use it. Did you hear me? Anything you found there, it's like it doesn't exist. And now the lab's integrity has been called into question. The DA may not be able to use anything you collected."

"Anything?" Danny repeated, incredulous. "He'd better be joking."

"Danny," Lindsay hissed, lightly smacking his shoulder, "does the man look like he's joking?"

"I don't think you realize the gravity of what Stella and I found at the Pamchenkos," Mac said. Hawkes used his pinky to clean out his ear, certain he was imagining the hysterical tone Mac's voice had suddenly taken. "We found the murder weapon, Don! We can tie Pamchenko to the killings! We've got him!"

Flack shook his head, then slammed his hands on Mac's desk. Hawkes, Lindsay, and Danny all jumped. "Are you even listening to me?" He groaned and violently stood up. Hawkes almost heard his spine snap into place. "You never listen to me, Mac. You act like I have no idea what I'm talking about. I may not have gone to some fancy college, but I'm not an idiot. I've been pounding the streets for years. I earned my badge. I earned my rank. And I don't appreciate being patronized by some know-it-all CSI who thinks that the laws don't apply to him."

Danny whistled again.

"And what the hell were you doing serving a warrant without running it by the lead on the case?"

Mac furrowed his brow. "I'm the lead on this case."

Flack snorted. "Like hell you are. The prime suspect has diplomatic immunity, which makes it FBI jurisdiction. Terra's the lead. And right now, she's probably getting fired because of your mistake. So, I'd like to know how the great Mac Taylor is going to fix this mess he's gotten all of us into. Tell me, Mac. How are you going to fix it?"

Mac opened his mouth to respond, but Flack refused to let him. "I'll tell you how. You can't. You can't fix this, Mac. You screwed up. Big time."

Flack stormed out of the office, finally noticing the audience that had assembled to witness the altercation. He straightened to his full height and snapped, "Don't you people have jobs to do?"

With the exception of Hawkes, Danny, and Lindsay, the assembled scattered, leaving the hallway deserted. Flack narrowed his eyes at the trio and sighed. "Terra and I are going to go get wasted. You all want to come?"

He didn't wait for an answer, turning abruptly, almost before he'd finished speaking, and storming down the hall. Hawkes waited until he was absolutely certain that Flack was out of earshot before turning to Danny and Lindsay. "This is bad."

"Bad does not even begin to describe what this is," Danny grunted. "We're all up shit creek."

Lindsay took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Maybe Flack was just exaggerating?" But her voice was hardly convincing. She did not even seem to believe what she'd said.

Hawkes raised his eyes to Mac's office, where their boss sat, slumped in his chair. Hawkes could not remember ever having seen him so defeated. It was disconcerting. He nodded in Mac's general direction. "Should one of us go check on him?"

Danny shook his head almost violently. "No way." But before he got the chance to say anything more, the phone in Mac's office rang.

"We should give him some privacy," Lindsay said.

No one moved.

"Chief Robinson," Mac said. "Yes, sir."

Hawkes and Danny exchanged a look. There was no way this conversation could end well. Danny jerked his head down the hallway, and the three of them headed towards the break room.

* * *

Mac emerged from the precinct, feeling – for the first time in over fifteen years – like a Marine. Unfortunately, he felt like a Marine who'd just been discharged from the corps. The chief of detectives and the governor had both seen fit to read Mac the riot act, and Mac could only stand there and let them. He had known, when he called Judge Harper to ask for the warrant, that it wasn't his brightest idea. But he had hoped that the chief would recognize the fact that they were running out of options – that the only way to make any headway in the case was to get inside the Pamchenkos' apartment, and that there were very few ways to do that. He knew that the kid was guilty, and sometimes a man had to follow his instincts.

Chief Robinson and the governor, however, had not seen things the way Mac had. The only thing that saved Mac from being fired was his exemplary record prior to this little lapse in judgment. The chief wasn't willing to lose such a decorated officer, despite enormous pressure from the Russian ambassador.

As Mac approached the lab, eager to disappear into the understanding arms of Peyton for the night, he happened upon someone he hadn't expected to see.

Terra leaned against the side of the building, a thin wisp of white smoke curling around her head and disappearing into the air. Without her glasses, her hair down, and dressed as she was in jeans and a t-shirt, she looked younger. But her eyes were empty, her face haggard. She saw him approaching and rolled her eyes, removing the cigarette from her lips and flicking off the ashes with practiced ease.

Mac raised his eyebrows as he moved up to stand beside her. "You know, those things are bad for your health."

She just stared at him. "Really? I had no idea. Thanks for telling me." She blew a smoke ring directly at him, then twirled the cigarette with her fingers.

He cleared his throat. "I didn't realize you smoked."

She dropped her head back, staring up at the nonexistent stars. "I quit. But something about this lab makes me revert back to my self-destructive behavior. You people seem determined to kill me." There was resignation in her voice to which Mac was unaccustomed. As long as he had known Terra, she had been a strong, confident young woman. This woman standing before him was not the FBI agent he had grudgingly come to respect.

"I've got tell you, Taylor," she said, wedging her cigarette between her teeth, "I didn't expect you to do something like this. I never liked you, you know, but at least I respected you. You protect your people, and that's admirable, but you also cared about justice. You reminded me, in some warped, convoluted way I don't even care to think about, of myself."

Mac cocked his head to the side. He'd always imagined that Stella and Terra were the similar ones. He saw very little of himself in her. "Sometimes, Terra, you have to take a risk. You have to follow your gut."

Terra lifted one eyebrow. "You don't. Bonasera, maybe. Danny, definitely. But not you. Not when it's something this important. Especially not when there's absolutely no evidence to back up your gut."

"No evidence? Terra, we found the murder weapon in his bedroom."

"Thanks to an illegal search, based on information you learned from your lab tech!"

"His fingerprints are all over the crime scene!"

She flicked the ashes from her cigarette. "Hell, Taylor, I bet you could find my fingerprint on that counter. Does that mean I did it?"

Mac frowned. He was really not in the mood to deal with Terra at the moment, especially when she became the self-righteous crusader for justice who went over his head when he refused to entertain her theories. "I made an educated guess based on the evidence available. Surely you're aware of such methods?"

"Logical leap," Terra said, rolling her eyes. "Evel Knievel couldn't have made it."

Mac let out a frustrated breath. He should have just ignored Terra and gone inside. It was what she would have done. "I thought you wanted to catch this killer. Given your history – "

Terra silenced him with a look that could have melted sheet metal and stubbed out her cigarette on the side of the building. "You can't just ignore the Constitution on a whim, Taylor. It's something I never thought I would have to tell you, of all people."

Drawing himself to his full height, Mac snarled, "Don't tell me about the Constitution, young lady. I was on foreign soil, defending the Constitution before you were old enough to even know what it was."

To his extreme surprise, Terra laughed. "If you want to spew your Marine mumbo jumbo at your little minions, be my guest, but don't try and feed me that regurgitated tripe. You think I don't know what you've done for this city? For this country? You think I didn't research you before I was assigned to the Chinatown case? You're Mac fucking Taylor. You're a legend in New York. I wanted…" Her voice trailed off, and he thought he saw tears in her eyes, though it could have been a trick of the streetlamps. "I wanted to impress you. And you tried to have me fired. Doesn't do much for a girl's self esteem, you know."

He didn't know what to say to that. So he said nothing.

"And now I have to deal with Bonasera's comments about how unprofessional I am, and I am not unprofessional. I am damn good at my job. I'm not the one who fucked up what could possibly be the biggest case of the decade, and I don't appreciate cracks like that coming from a woman who wears shirts that are entirely inappropriate for a crime lab."

Mac smiled in spite of himself. This was the Terra he knew. "I think you're being a little unfair."

"All I know is, the last time I wore a halter top to work, I was seventeen, and the Piggly Wiggly wasn't all that strict about the dress code."

Mac sighed and shook his head. "Did you ever think that Stella's dislike for you was not because of your job performance, but because of your attitude?"

Terra pursed her lips. "Actually, I always assumed that she didn't like me because you didn't like me, and I assumed that you didn't like me because of what happened on the Chinatown case."

How incredibly intuitive of her. He hadn't expected her to guess, especially considering that they so rarely worked together. "It was incredibly unprofessional, and considering that it was your first case, I don't think it went very far towards impressing your superiors."

Terra furrowed her brow. She seemed genuinely confused. "My supervisor fought like hell to keep me because of what I did. I mean, my analysis of that tape was the break in the case, and when you petitioned the Bureau to have me removed from my position – "

She wasn't as intuitive as he'd thought, apparently. "What are you talking about?"

She shoved her hands in her back pockets. "Me going over your head."

Mac exhaled slowly through his nose. This was not a conversation he wanted to be having right now. "That isn't why I tried to have you fired."

Terra's nostrils flared. "Then what is the reason?" Mac raised his eyebrows, wondering how exactly to phrase what he was going to say, but she seemed to guess the answer. "Oh, my God. You tried to have me fired because I had sex with Danny?"

Mac gave a slight shrug. Seconds later, he stumbled backwards as Terra's palm connected with his face. His cheek stung, and he looked at Terra with wide eyes.

"I really have to admire your selective memory, Taylor. Not only do you forget specific amendments to the Constitution, but you also apparently forgot that you are the one who locked Danny and I in a supply closet for six hours." She gave him a rueful smile. "You wanted us to play nice. We did."

"It isn't just that," Mac said, wincing as he rubbed his cheek. Today was just not his day. He seriously hoped that Peyton was willing to call it an early night. "I don't like the undue influence you seem to have over him."

"Undue influence?" Terra repeated, her tone like ice. "Haven't you noticed that Danny is in his thirties, and thus more than capable of making his own decisions? The person that seems to have the most influence over him, Taylor, is you."

Mac's jaw dropped. "Me?"

Terra pushed herself off from the wall. "He bends over backwards to please you. He wants you to not regret hiring him. But it doesn't seem to matter, does it? Because you're always going to see him as a screw-up who's not worthy of being a detective second grade. I know why you took him off the promotion grid, but why didn't you ever put him back on? It's not like he doesn't deserve it."

Mac remembered that tense conversation, nearly two years ago, when he revealed to Danny that he had been removed from the promotion grid. It had killed Mac to do it, because Danny was one hell of a CSI, but he had jeopardized his job in going to Internal Affairs before all the evidence had come in, directly disobeying a strong suggestion from Mac. Mac had had no choice.

He nearly hung his head as the realization hit him. Danny had risked his career; Mac had risked the case. The only person who would have suffered from Danny's lapse in judgment was Danny. But there were a number of people who had been affected by Mac's – Terra and Don, just for starters.

"And if it weren't bad enough for you to stunt Danny's career, you have to go and ruin mine and Flack's. And what the hell did Flack ever do to you?"

"Terra," Mac said, desperate to explain himself, "we were running out of options. We needed more evidence to link Pamchenko to the crime, and we couldn't do that without getting into his place."

She rolled her eyes. "And I suppose it never occurred to you that the reason you couldn't find any more evidence is because it wasn't there to find?"

"You know he did this, Terra. You know it as well as I do."

"Maybe he did and maybe he didn't. But it still doesn't give us the right to pick and choose which laws we want to follow." She sighed heavily. "I hope it was worth it, Taylor."

"Worth what?"

Both Terra and Mac were distracted by the sudden opening of the door. Danny and Lindsay came ambling down the steps. Danny guided Lindsay with a hand on the small of her back; his spare hand he used to wave at Terra, who waved back. She glanced back to Mac. "Worth losing the respect of everyone who works for you."

"Hey," Danny said, as he and Lindsay walked up to them. "You ready to go?"

"Absolutely," Terra grunted. "Good night, Taylor."

She linked arms with Lindsay, and the three of them headed off down the street. Mac watched them until they disappeared into the darkness. Then he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Peyton's number.

"Hey," he said when she answered the phone. "It's me."


	9. It Hits the Fan

**A/N:** Many thanks as usual to my fabulous pre-readers: Blue, Spunky, and Mandy. Special thanks go to Mandy for reading this chapter like six times.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: It Hits the Fan**

Danny walked a few paces behind Lindsay and Terra, a small smile on his face as he listened to two of his three favorite women talking as though they had known each other for years, and not just a few days. It was reassuring, to say the least. Terra had always hated the women he dated – and granted, he'd made some questionable decisions in the girlfriend department – so he was relieved that she seemed to approve of Lindsay. It was important to him that they got along.

He wondered how Lindsay would react to the news when she learned that he and Terra had been more than 'just friends' on a number of occasions. He kept telling himself that he shouldn't feel guilty, because he shouldn't. Lindsay did not share with him all the details of her past relationships, so why did he feel obligated to spill his guts about the one woman he hadn't managed to run off?

The answer was simple. He loved Lindsay. He wanted to tell her these things. He wanted her to understand that, while Terra was important to him, he didn't want to spend the rest of his life with her. Lindsay was the one he wanted to be with.

But knowing that didn't change the fact that the thought of Terra and Flack made him nauseous. He wanted her to be happy. He did. But… Did she really have to pick one of his best friends? Why couldn't she think some total stranger was cute?

He had to talk to Terra, but he couldn't do it with Lindsay around. And in about a minute and a half, they would be at Sullivan's, surrounded by dozens of cops, including Flack. He waited until Lindsay and Terra had unlinked arms to go through the door before grabbing Terra's wrist and pulling her back. Lindsay, oblivious, continued inside.

Terra shot him a questioning glance. "What's up?"

He exhaled through pursed lips. He could tell her anything. He had told her everything. He was almost positive there was nothing about him that she didn't know. But for some reason, he couldn't find the words. He sighed inwardly, disgusted at himself for being unable to broach the subject. "So, how much trouble are you in?"

She let out an annoyed sigh. "More than I should be, less than I thought. I managed to convince O'Hara that I had no knowledge of the warrant, though it took a while. This isn't like Taylor, so she didn't believe me at first." She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, rocking back on her heels. "She's allowing me to remain as lead on the case, but as soon as the case wraps, I'm on suspension."

He watched with wide eyes as she pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and dumped one into her palm. She wedged the cigarette between her teeth, and he removed it. "When the hell did you start smoking again?" he demanded, flicking the cigarette away.

She narrowed her eyes at him and took out another one, which he also grabbed and tossed aside. "Boomer, you want to bum a smoke, you have to ask me nicely."

"Do you want to end up like your uncle?" he asked, groping for the pack, which she pulled out of his reach. "It took you ages to quit. I was pulling hidden packs out of your toilet tank for weeks. It was hell."

Terra sighed and relinquished the pack, which Danny disposed of in the nearest garbage can. Her voice was tired when she said, "Okay, Dan, what's going on?"

He furrowed his brow. "What, so now I can't be concerned about your health?" She just looked at him, one eyebrow twisted quizzically, and he grunted. "It's Lindsay."

Terra rolled her eyes. "Shocker. What is it now?"

Danny licked his lips and rubbed the back of his neck. He and Terra were closer than two people should be, but they had never really discussed their relationship – at least not in depth. Their decision to stop sleeping together had been a mutual, unspoken agreement, and even that wasn't a good description of what had happened. Their relationship was so complicated that he couldn't think of a word that accurately described it. And while they could talk about damn near anything, they had never once sat down and hashed out their…feelings. Danny shuddered. He would have preferred to do this with a few beers in him, but he didn't think it could wait.

"Us."

Terra stiffened slightly. "What about us?"

He shook his head slowly. "We've never…talked. About us."

She smiled sadly. "There is no 'us', Boomer. Maybe there could have been, but we both know that there isn't. And I can prove it."

He raised his eyebrows as Terra lightly touched his jaw with her fingers, gently bringing his mouth down to hers. She kissed him sweetly, lovingly – quite unlike the way she'd always kissed him before. Their kisses were usually urgent, forceful – fueled by alcohol or need or anger. They were desperate, bordering on painful most of the time. She had never before kissed him with this much care, this much tenderness, this much affection. It was how he always imagined kissing Lindsay would be like.

And suddenly, he was kissing Lindsay. He was threading his fingers in her curly brown hair and inhaling that unique scent of soap and mountain air and tea that was just Lindsay. Her mouth, hot and pliant, pressed against his eagerly, searchingly, her tongue sweeping across his bottom lip, seeking entrance, which he gave with a groan. She opened her lips to him so that he could explore her mouth in turn. He poured his heart and soul into his kiss, desperate to show Lindsay just how much he loved her.

He was so caught up in the fantasy that when she tried to break the kiss, he grabbed her hips and pulled her flush against him. His kiss turned fierce, possessive, as he nipped at her lips. He hoped he left a mark. He wanted everyone to see that Lindsay was his. He slipped his hands underneath the hem of her shirt, desperate to feel her skin. She gasped and tried to pull away again, murmuring his name against his lips.

"Danny."

God, he loved the way she said his name, with that soft western twang. He could listen to her just say his name for hours.

He ran his hands up her sides and was delighted to feel her shiver under his touch. He flattened his palms against her belly so that he could feel her body tremble. He began to trail kisses along her jaw, listening as she continued to say his name – over and over again. She tried to push him away, but he gripped her wrists tightly, pinning her arms to her sides. He lightly bit her neck, and she whimpered.

Ice water suddenly ran through his veins. He knew that whimper. That was not Lindsay's whimper. He blinked and instead of Lindsay, he saw Terra – her lips swollen and bruised, her eyes wide. They pushed away from each other violently; Terra's back collided with the building, and Danny tripped over the curb, nearly falling on his ass in the street.

After a few minutes of silence, during which the only sound was their labored breathing, Terra said, "You thought I was her, didn't you?"

He couldn't lie to her. Not just because she would know he was lying, either. He didn't want to lie to her. Not about something like this. Not after what he'd just done. He exhaled slowly and took a few steps forward. "Yeah."

Pain shot through his leg as Terra kicked him hard in the shin.

"Ow!" He balanced on one leg, pulling his knee to his chest as he cupped the spot where she'd kicked him with both hands. "What the hell was that for?"

"Don't tell me the truth, you idiot!" Terra exclaimed, bracing her hands on his chest and shoving him backwards.

He almost tripped over his own feet again as he struggled to maintain his balance. This was definitely not his week. "You can tell when I'm lying!"

"It doesn't matter! You can't kiss a girl like that and then admit that you were thinking about someone else! You just don't do that!"

Danny blinked. As long as he lived, he would never understand women. "So, what, you want me to lie?"

She groaned in exasperation. "Yes!"

"Okay, fine. I wasn't thinking about Lindsay."

Terra angrily folded her arms across her chest and settled back against the wall. "Liar."

He held up his hands in a gesture of concession, cautiously inching closer until he was standing beside her. When she made no move to attack him again, he leaned against the wall. "Terra – "

She sighed. "Danny, promise me something. If you ever have to make a choice between her and me, for the love of God, don't pick me."

"What? Why?"

She turned to look at him. "I love you, Danny. I really do. But the way you feel about Lindsay, it only happens once in a lifetime, if you're lucky. I could never forgive myself if I stood in the way of that."

He smiled and tightly gripped her hand. "I love you, too, Rocky."

She playfully rolled her eyes. "All right. Don't go getting all mushy on me."

He chuckled softly, then sobered in an instant. "What about your nightmares?" The two of them had slept together numerous times; however, most of those times, all they did was sleep. Terra never slept soundly, but she seemed to sleep better whenever she and Danny shared a bed. He didn't relish the idea of leaving her to fend off her demons on her own. She liked to pretend that she was strong, but he knew from personal experience what it was like to be alone in the dark.

She lifted one shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug. "I managed to deal with them before I met you. I can do it again. And if not, I'll join the millions of Americans who suffer from insomnia."

His heart broke at the defeated tone her voice had taken. He knew how she had dealt with things before he came along, and he knew that she did not want to have to resort to that again. That, coupled with her imminent suspension, would only serve to break her down. And he wasn't so sure she'd be able to recover from another breakdown. He nudged her with his shoulder and said, "Flack likes you."

Her eyes brightened almost instantly. "Really?"

Danny nodded. "He asked about you."

She blinked at him. "What did you say?" she asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion in her voice. She had good reason to be wary; the last time one of his fellow officers had asked about her, Danny had told him that she was about to quit the FBI and join a convent. He made sure to emphasize the celibacy vow she'd be required to take.

"Relax," Danny snapped, more harshly than he intended. "I didn't tell him anything."

She narrowed her eyes, but she was smiling. "Jealous, Boomer?"

Danny couldn't help but grin at that. No matter what happened, he would always be protective of Terra. She was important to him, and he wanted only the best for her. "Do we still feel that way about each other? I thought we were above that."

They stood in silence for a few moments before Danny said, "We're messed up."

"Totally," Terra muttered, shaking her head.

"When did we get so messed up?"

Terra laughed softly, her eyes sad. "I've always been messed up."

Danny nodded sagely. "True."

She smacked him. "Nice, Boomer. Nice. I don't know about you, but I could sure as hell use a shot."

* * *

Flack was on his second glass of scotch by the time Lindsay finally ambled through the door. He furrowed his brow and glanced behind her, surprised to see that she was alone. Where Lindsay went, Danny followed; it was unusual anymore to see one without the other. Maybe Messer had needed to pull another shift? It wouldn't be the first time. He waved her over to the booth he'd managed to procure and gestured at the door with his head. "You ditch the kids?" he asked.

Lindsay blinked at him, obviously confused. "How many of those have you had?"

He laughed as she slid into the booth across from him. "I thought you and Messer were meeting Terra and walking over here together."

"We did," Lindsay said, now looking at him as though he were crazy. "They're right – " She turned around, apparently expecting to see Danny and Terra. She glanced around the bar a couple of times, her eyes scanning the room. She turned back to him. "Okay, well, they were right behind me."

Flack cocked his head to the side. "Where do you think they went?"

Lindsay shrugged, though the look in her eyes had hardened. "Maybe Terra needed another cigarette."

"Terra smokes?" This was news to Flack. Of course, he'd known her – what – two days? He imagined there was rather a lot of stuff that he didn't know about her.

"She reeked of cigarettes when we met up with her outside the lab. And she was talking to Mac, and I know he doesn't – "

Flack rolled his eyes and drained the rest of his scotch. Lindsay's tone had definitely gotten colder, but it didn't occur to him to wonder why. He slammed the glass down on the table and signaled the nearest waitress for another. Lindsay looked at him with wide eyes, and he shook his head. "I don't want to talk about him."

Lindsay nodded slowly, giving him a faltering smile. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

He snorted, though he was touched by her obvious concern. He and Lindsay didn't get to spend a lot of time together, but he always enjoyed her company, on the rare occasions they did get to see each other. So it was with considerably less harshness when he said, "I don't want to talk. I want to drink."

She grinned. "Well, then, I hope you can keep up."

The corners of his lips tugged upwards in the trace hint of a smile. "You fancy yourself a drinker, Monroe?"

"Line 'em up and let's find out." There was no missing the distinct note of pride in her tone as she leaned forward conspiratorially. "You ever play Five Up Five Down?"

Flack raised his eyebrows. He had missed this Lindsay – the competitive girl with sparkling eyes and a smile to match it, who didn't back down in the face of a challenge. She had disappeared in the months prior to her trip to Montana, but he was pleased that she was back. Not only because of what her ordeal had been doing to her, but also because of what it had done to Danny. "What's your poison?" he asked, having a feeling he knew what the answer would be.

She clicked her tongue. "Whiskey."

He canceled his order of scotch and bought them each five shots of whiskey. He knew the rules – they were pretty simple – and he wasn't about to let a five-foot nothing girl drink him under the table. They lined up the glasses and stared each other down. Flack pursed his lips, preparing himself. "Ready…go."

They raced, gulping down their shots and then slamming the glasses on the table. Flack hadn't done anything like this in quite some time, but he was determined not to let Lindsay beat him. And thankfully, she didn't. He finished his shots a split second faster than she did, even though he nearly vomited from the effort.

Lindsay laughed, a genuine laugh – the first one he'd heard out of her in months. "I'll be wanting a rematch."

Flack covered his mouth, attempting to hold in the belch that threatened to escape if he opened his lips. "Maybe later."

Lindsay shook her head, her smile fading slowly as she lowered her gaze to the line of shotglasses in front of them. "Did, uh… Did Danny ever tell you about his friend Rocky?"

Flack blinked a couple of times, trying to focus. Danny was not very talkative about his personal life. Even back in the days before he joined the lab, he was fairly closed off. He occasionally weaved tales of debauchery about him and the women he dated, but even then he was often sparing with the details. Flack remembered him mentioning someone named Rocky quite a few times, though he couldn't recall if Danny had ever gone in depth. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Why?"

Her face was serious, and Flack sobered a bit at the look in her eyes. "Did he ever mention that it was Terra?"

He could only stare. _No. He neglected to mention that._ The doubts wormed their way back into his mind. Danny had given no indication, the night before, that he and Terra were close. His non-answer still rang through Flack's mind. _Well enough._ But he talked about Rocky a lot. Maybe there was something going on between the two of them. Flack didn't know Lindsay very well, but he could tell she thought that there was – just from the fact that she'd mentioned it, in addition to the tone of her voice.

Flack wanted to reassure her. Nobody really knew Danny all that well, but Flack knew him best, and he knew how much Danny cared for Lindsay. She really had nothing to worry about, as far as his affections were concerned. But if Terra were the Rocky that Danny was always talking about, maybe they both had cause for concern.

No. That was ridiculous. Flack could understand Danny not wanting to tell Lindsay, but surely he would have mentioned something to Flack if he'd been getting a little action on the side for the past five years. The softness in her voice when Terra spoke to Danny could be attributed to the fact that they had been friends for so long. After all, Flack tended to speak in a different tone to Stella and Lindsay than he did with women he'd just met.

Terra's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Hey, you started without us?" He turned and saw she and Danny headed towards them. There was nothing suspicious about their movements; there was no hint of guilt in her voice. "So not fair. Ooh!" She crouched down and picked something off the floor. "A quarter."

Maybe she had just wanted a cigarette. But then, why did she need Danny for that?

Danny laughed and shook his head. "You have a trust fund, and you're picking quarters off of dirty bar floors."

"A quarter is a quarter, Boomer." Terra grinned and flipped the quarter at Danny, who deftly caught it out of midair. "You could buy yourself a nice pack of gum with that."

Flack furrowed his brow. _Boomer?_ And he called her Rocky. Apparently, they were close enough to have given each other nicknames. The closest Messer had ever come to giving him a nickname was that one time he had repeatedly called him 'jackass' – and that was because Flack beat him at handball. Danny had given Lindsay a nickname on her first day because he had a crush on the new girl, and that was his way of getting her attention.

He wondered how long it had taken Danny to give Terra her nickname.

"Gum," Danny said, rolling his eyes and plopping down beside Flack. Terra moved a little more gracefully, settling into the booth next to Lindsay. "Nice." He flagged down a waitress, who was at their table in seconds. He gestured at himself and Terra. "Two beers."

The waitress nodded and started to move away, but Terra reached out and grabbed her wrist. "He'll have a beer. I'll have a shot of whiskey."

"No," Danny said firmly, speaking to the waitress but looking at Terra. "She'll have a beer."

Lindsay raised her eyebrows at Flack, giving him a look that just said, _See? _Flack pursed his lips. He had never seen Danny this concerned about anyone before, with the possible exception of his brother – and Lindsay. But in those circumstances, Louie and Lindsay's lives had been in danger. Flack could hardly imagine that Terra having a couple shots of whiskey was a life-threatening event.

Terra glanced at the waitress apologetically. "Ignore him. He has a complex. I'll take a Jack, a Jamison, and a Wild Turkey." The waitress nodded and left, and Terra glared at Danny. "Dan, I'm twenty-eight years old. I can order my own damn drink."

"Obviously not. Remember what happened the last time you had whiskey?"

Flack followed the exchange the way he would a tennis match. He suddenly very much wanted to know what had happened the last Terra had had whiskey. He had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer, though.

She rolled her eyes, groaning. "The whole point of this excursion is to get drunk. I haven't gotten drunk on beer since I was in college."

"Then I applaud your liver. But you're not having whiskey. The last time you had whiskey, you threw up on my shoes."

"You should thank me for that." She leaned towards Lindsay and stage whispered, "Those were hideous shoes."

Danny rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "You are not having whiskey," he said, drawing out each word slowly and carefully.

Terra mimicked his position until their noses were practically touching. "You got to have tequila the other night. Tonight, I get to have whiskey."

Flack clenched his jaw; Lindsay looked as though she were about to have a stroke. Terra and Danny sat like that, their faces scant inches apart, staring at each other for a good minute or so. Finally, Danny sighed and leaned back against the booth. "Fine. Order whatever you want. What do I care?"

Terra gave him a small smile, then touched her tongue to the tip of her nose. Flack suddenly felt a little warm. "You're such a drama queen."

Ah, hell. If he wanted to know if there was something going on between the two of them, he should just ask.

"That's an interesting tattoo, Terra," Lindsay said in a very clipped voice. For a moment, Flack wondered how Lindsay had seen the ink on Terra's hip, and then he remembered the artwork on the small of her back, which Lindsay must have seen when Terra bent down to pick up the quarter. "It looks an awful lot like Danny's."

"Where do you think I got the idea for the design?" Terra asked, sounding not the least bit concerned. Her eyes darted around the table. "Aren't there peanuts in this place?"

Lindsay exhaled slowly through pursed lips. "So, what, you saw his tattoo and thought you'd get the same one?"

Flack glanced up at Terra, suddenly very interested in her answer. Danny tensed beside him.

Terra scrunched up her face. Flack knew that Terra could hear the tone of Lindsay's voice, but she was ignoring it. "Of course not. A tattoo is a very personal expression, I couldn't just steal Danny's." She twisted around her seat, checking the table behind her. "What the hell kind of bar doesn't have peanuts?"

Flack reached his arm behind him and produced the bowl of peanuts from the other booth. "It sure looks the same," he murmured, holding out the bowl for her.

Terra smiled at him and grabbed a handful of peanuts. "Same basic idea. They're Celtic circles, essentially. Danny's has these dagger things, which represents strength and masculinity." She winked at Danny. "Though I'm sure he just thought it was a cool design."

Danny chuckled and shook his head. "Not everyone researches tattoos like you do, Rocky."

"Now, my tattoo," Terra continued, shoving some peanuts into her mouth, "is more rounded, more feminine."

Lindsay snorted, and everyone turned to look at her. "It's a bunch of dogs."

Flack choked on his mouthful of peanuts. "Your tattoo is a bunch of dogs?"

Terra stuck her tongue out at him just as the waitress brought her and Danny their drinks. "A circle of dogs. The circle represents eternity, and dogs are an internationally recognized symbol for loyalty. Constant and faithful, the motto of the McQueen clan."

She gazed at her shots apprehensively and took a deep breath, as though steeling herself for what she was about to do. Then, before Flack could swallow his peanuts, she was tossing her head back and downing the shots in quick succession, much the same way Lindsay and Flack had done earlier. When she was finished, she blinked and made a face, then put a hand on her stomach. She took another deep breath, then another one, and then bolted in the direction of the bathroom.

"And that," Danny said, gesturing after her with his bottle of beer, "is why she can't have whiskey."

Flack scrutinized his best friend. Something was going on, of that Flack was certain. But what he wasn't sure of was just how deep the whole thing went. Danny caught him staring and cleared his throat. "Hey, Flack. Come up to the bar with me and get a drink."

Lindsay cocked an eyebrow. "Danny, you just started drinking your beer."

"Oh," Danny said, glancing down at the bottle in his hand as though just now realizing it was there. "Well, I don't like this kind." He clapped Flack on the back rather hard and slid out of the booth. "C'mon, man."

Flack raised his eyebrows at Lindsay. "We'll be right back." He followed Danny to the bar on the other side of the room and plopped down on the empty stool beside him. "All right, man, what's going on? You've been acting weird for a while now."

Danny removed his glassed and wiped a hand across his eyes. "Look… About Terra…"

Flack sighed. He hadn't wanted to be right. He'd hoped that he was reading too much into things, that it was just his innate detective-ness that was making him see things that weren't really there. "You're dating her."

"What?" Danny said, sounding genuinely shocked. "No. I am not dating her. Terra and I have never dated." Flack let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, but then Danny said, "We just slept together."

Flack choked on his tongue. Was that supposed to be better?

"Recently?" Flack asked, hoping that Danny would admit that whatever had happened between him and Terra had been a long time ago. He also hoped that his voice didn't sound as hysterical as he thought it did.

When Danny wouldn't meet his eye, Flack felt a lead ball drop into his stomach. He dropped his head to the bar with a sickening thud. All the women in New York City, and he had to develop a thing for one who'd had sex with his best friend. He really had the worst luck with women. He was going to be sick.

Danny put his head in his hands. "It's complicated."

"So un-complicate things for me, Messer," Flack growled. God, this was so not his day. "Are you still sleeping with her?"

Messer shook his head emphatically. "No. It's definitely over. It was a mistake, and we both know that. We knew that then."

Flack gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw hurt. "And you couldn't have brought this up last night, when I asked how well you knew her?" Again, Danny said nothing, his eyes focused on a spot on the bar in front of him. Flack's stomach dropped to his knees; he was thankful he was sitting. "Fuck," he muttered, realization dawning on him. "You love her."

"Of course I love her," Danny said, rolling his eyes, which Flack did not appreciate. If Messer was trying to placate him, he was doing a shit-ass job of it. Flack balled up his fists, his fingernails leaving crescent-shaped cuts in his palms. He wanted nothing more than to belt Danny across the face.

"You know, Messer," Flack grunted, exercising every amount of willpower he possessed, "you better hope you never have to talk down a jumper."

He slammed a wad of bills down on the bar to cover his drinks and slid off the stool, intent on storming out of the establishment with at least some of his dignity in tact. He cast his eyes back towards the booth, only to find it empty. Terra was apparently still in the bathroom, and Lindsay had disappeared. It was probably best; he felt sort of guilty leaving so abruptly without saying good night to Lindsay, but he really didn't want to see Terra right now. He was angry – not at Terra, or even Danny, but with himself – and he was afraid of what he would say to her if he saw her.

He'd almost made it to the door when Danny caught up with him. "Messer," Flack said, putting another few inches between them, "I really don't want to hear about it."

Danny sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Terra's something, you know. She really is. And… She likes you."

Flack exhaled loudly through his nose and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Yesterday, he would have been thrilled with that knowledge. Hell, two hours ago, if Messer had told him that, he would have been creaming his pants. But this didn't feel right; it felt like Danny was passing Terra off on him – like he was finished with her, so Flack could have her. "So, what, I need your permission to ask her out?"

Danny cocked his head to the side, squinting at him. "No. But I'm giving it to you anyway."

"Thanks," Flack snorted, rolling his eyes. Why did it sound like Danny thought that Flack wouldn't be able to get Terra on his own? He may not have the fucking Messer Magic, but he was more than capable of getting a woman on his own. "But I can get my own dates. I don't need your leftovers."

It happened so fast that Flack didn't have time to react. Danny had pulled back his fist and let fly with a punch that landed right on Flack's already injured cheek. The pain was momentarily blinding, and even after it faded to a dull throb, his vision was still blurry. Both men swore violently at almost the same time; Flack's hands flew to his face for the second time that day, and Danny was clutching his right wrist.

"Fuck, Messer!" He was surprised that Danny had managed to get that much force behind his punch, considering Flack had a good five inches on him. But he wasn't all that surprised that he had punched him.

Danny groaned – Flack belatedly remembered that he had broken his wrist a long time ago. "I know you're pissed off," he grunted, still clutching his arm, "but no one talks about Terra like that."

Before Flack could respond, Danny had pushed past him, jostling him with his shoulder, on his way back to the bar. Flack gingerly rubbed his cheek, watching as Danny plopped onto his stool and ordered another beer from the bartender. He momentarily debated going back to settle things – his mother had always told him to never go to bed angry – but all he wanted to do right then was get the hell out of there.

And that's exactly what he did.

* * *

Lindsay knew Danny was lying. He hadn't gone up to the bar for another beer. He needed to tell Flack something, and she had a pretty good idea of what that was. She had basically pieced together what was going on, even though she didn't want to believe it. The signs were all there; they were rather hard to ignore. Danny had started to tell her about it at lunch, but they'd been interrupted. She was tired of waiting to find out the truth. She was determined to get it, no matter what.

But first, she'd need a little liquid courage. She drained the rest of Danny's abandoned beer and got to her feet. She marched – albeit slightly unsteadily – towards the ladies' room. Terra's unique shoes were sticking out from underneath the door of the very last stall, and it was there that Lindsay went.

She pushed in the stall door and found Terra hunched over the toilet, hugging the bowl. She blinked up at Lindsay and mumbled, "You know, Monroe, some people don't like when you do that."

Lindsay didn't give her the satisfaction of laughing or even smiling. Terra seemed to be a straight shooter, so even though she felt a little awkward doing this, she figured the best way to get what she wanted was just to come out and ask her. "Are you in love with Danny?"

Terra groaned and rested her forehead against the bowl. "God, I so don't want to be having this conversation right now."

She did look terrible. Lindsay couldn't help but feel a little guilty about this. Here she was, barging in on Terra while she was quite obviously sick, asking unbelievably personal questions about her and a man that – while she was in love with – she had no claim over. But she had to know. She had to know if she still had a chance with Danny.

She also couldn't help but think that it was quite refreshing that her competition couldn't shoot whiskey. Score one for the country girl. "Are you?"

Terra's next question was directed at the floor. "Does it really matter?"

Of course it mattered. Couldn't Terra realize that? Didn't she know that Lindsay was the type of girl who would dig her nails in and fight for what she wanted? If Terra wanted a fight, she would get a fight. Lindsay hadn't come this far to give up now. She rolled her eyes and snapped, "Just answer the question."

Terra glanced up at her. "Are you blind?"

Lindsay pulled back in surprise. That was not the answer she had been expecting. "What?"

"It doesn't matter if I'm in love with Danny. He's in love with you." Terra braced her hands on each side of the stall and hauled herself shakily to her feet. She lurched forward, and Lindsay stepped out of the way as she stumbled out of the stall to the sink. "Don't look so shocked, Monroe," Terra said when she saw Lindsay's slack-jawed gaze. "Danny's a lot of things, but subtle he's not."

Lindsay's mood shifted so abruptly that her legs gave out beneath her. She had been afraid to hope that Danny's feelings could go that deep. He told her that they had chemistry – that they were into each other. Love had never been mentioned. Love was something she didn't think was possible – not from a guy like Danny Messer, whose list of rumored conquests was longer than her arm. But Terra's tone was so matter-of-fact, and if she and Danny were really as close as Lindsay suspected… But now that didn't make sense. If Terra were in love with Danny, why would she tell Lindsay how he felt about her?

"Really?" Lindsay's voice came out in a squeak.

"I've known him six years. I know everything about him. I know shit his priest doesn't know." She hiccoughed and looked as though she were about to be sick again. Lindsay wondered if it were because of the whiskey or because she was admitting that Danny was in love with Lindsay. "I've never seen him like this. I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

Lindsay giggled, her laughter becoming uncontrollable and slightly hysterical. Terra furrowed her brow, looking at Lindsay as though she were crazy. "Oh, thank God," Lindsay said. "I thought – for a minute – that you guys…" She trailed off, leaving the implications of her statement perfectly clear.

Terra narrowed her eyes at Lindsay, her gaze scrutinizing, but not unkind. "How drunk are you?"

She found it an odd question and answered it with one of her own. "How drunk are you?"

"I didn't have the chance to absorb any alcohol before I got sick," Terra responded. She filled the sink to the brim and splashed some water on her face. "And at the risk of sounding like a seven-year-old, I asked you first."

This was undoubtedly the weirdest conversation Lindsay had ever had. She accepted Terra's hand and let herself be pulled to her feet. "Why?"

"Because," Terra said, resting her weight against the sink, "I'm trying to figure out what your reaction will be when I tell you that Danny and I have had sex."

Lindsay felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. She'd suspected, of course, but for Terra to come out and state it like that… It was harsh, to say the least. How could she be so cold about it, after she'd just told Lindsay how Danny felt? She had just gotten finished telling Lindsay that Danny was in love with her, and now she was admitting to having slept with him? What the hell was her problem? The numbing cold in her stomach turned into a hot pit of anger. Her hands began to shake.

"You slept with him?" She tried and failed to dislodge the tremor from her voice. "How could you do that if you knew he was in love with me?"

Terra cocked an eyebrow, a smirk playing at her lips. "You've seen Danny, right?"

Lindsay felt her upper lip curl into a sneer. "Apparently, I'm blind."

Terra sighed heavily. "Look, I know you'd like an easy answer, but there's no such thing as an easy answer when it comes to situations like this. My relationship with Danny is complicated, to put it mildly. And not that it's any of your business, but we've only slept together twice since you moved to town, and both times had extreme extenuating circumstances."

Rolling her eyes, Lindsay asked, "Like what?" Danny was supposed to be in love with her. Extenuating circumstances or not, why the hell would he just up and sleep with someone else?

"That," Terra said, her voice turning hard, "is definitely none of your business."

Lindsay was starting to get pissed off. She hated not knowing why. She was tired of finding out some of the answers only to be left in the dark on the things she considered most important, especially when it came to Danny. She deserved to know. "Danny is my business."

"No," Terra snarled. "He's not. You made that perfectly clear on numerous occasions. You told him that you couldn't be in a relationship with him. You pushed him away. He loves you, and you broke his heart."

"So you decided you'd just swoop in and steal him from me?" Lindsay asked, the anger in her boiling out of control. "Because if you want a fight, you've got one."

"I'm not going to fight you, Monroe." Terra's voice was full of resignation. "Though I've no doubt you'd put up a good fight. Anyone with rawhide braiding calluses on her palm would be able to hold her own."

Lindsay looked at her palms, curious as to how Terra could have noticed them, having spent so little time with her. "If you don't want Danny," Lindsay began slowly, trying to reason this out, "then what are we doing?"

Terra folded her arms across her chest. "I love Danny. He's my best friend. Seeing him the way he's been the past few months has broken my heart. I needed to be sure it wouldn't happen again." She dropped her gaze to her feet. "It's reassuring, knowing that you were willing to throw down to keep him."

Lindsay furrowed her brow. "I thought you said you weren't in love with him."

"I'm not. Loving someone and being in love with someone are not the same thing. And before you try and tell me that they are, I should caution you against arguing semantics with a linguist." Terra pushed off from the sink. "The fact of the matter is, Danny's nuts about you. He has been for a while. And if you had any sense at all, you'd stop lollygagging around and go out there and do something about it."

This was all too much for Lindsay. She loved Danny. She wanted to be with him. But he obviously cared a great deal about Terra, and Lindsay wasn't sure if she could be with a man who was so entwined with another woman, even if they were just friends. She didn't think her heart would be able to take it, knowing that she might not always come first in his life. She deserved someone who would love her with his whole heart, and Danny apparently wouldn't be able to do that.

"I don't know," Lindsay said, and the anger started to fade, replaced by something else that was just as strong and a lot more familiar – fear.

"You don't know?" Terra repeated, incredulous. "You don't know? Five minutes ago, you were ready to kick my ass, and now you don't know? What the hell? Seriously, how drunk are you?"

Lindsay narrowed her eyes. "That's unfair."

"No. What's unfair is how you've been stringing Danny along for all these months. He doesn't deserve that."

"Well, you know what I deserve?" Lindsay said, giving into the anger and the fear, and thanking whatever higher power existed that she was drunk, and could later blame this on the alcohol. "I deserve to be happy. I deserve a guy that's going to love me completely and totally, with everything he has. I deserve a guy who's not bogged down with all the baggage of an ex."

Terra stared at Lindsay, her eyes hard. "Danny does love you with everything he has. If you don't know that by now, then you don't know him at all."

Lindsay shook her head. Terra didn't understand. "I don't know if I can be with a man who's so…involved…with another woman."

Terra blinked a few times in rapid succession. "No offense, but that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

It was Lindsay's turn to blink. "Excuse me?"

"You'd seriously pass up the chance to be with a guy like Danny – a guy who loves you so much it's sickening… A guy who pushes aside his own safety to make sure that you're all right… A guy who was about thirty seconds away from hopping a plane to Montana so that you wouldn't have to sit in that courtroom alone… You'd give up on him because he's got a past? That's just dumb."

Lindsay froze, the blood rushing from her face. She blinked again, sure she had misheard. "Danny… Danny was going to come to Montana?" Terra nodded slowly, deliberately. It didn't seem possible. Danny was impulsive, sure, but was he really the type of guy who would fly two thousand miles just so she wouldn't be alone? The same Danny Messer who didn't cuddle? Lindsay felt another rush of anger. "Why didn't he?" She didn't even try to keep the suspicion out of her voice.

"Hey, don't pin this on me," Terra said. "Who do you think loaned him the money for the ticket? It's not cheap to fly cross-country last minute, you know. But with you already gone, Taylor wouldn't give him the time off."

Lindsay shook her head in disbelief. He wouldn't do that… Would he?

Terra gave her a soft smile. "Now, would a guy who's 'involved' with another woman do that?" She made as if to leave, then abruptly turned and walked towards Lindsay. "I'm warning you. You break his heart again, and you'll find out why he calls me Rocky."

Then she was gone.


	10. Starting Fresh

**A/N: Thanks as always to Blue for the beta, and Mandy for reading most of it. :P I'm sure she's just thrilled that I finally posted it, so she can read the rest.**

**Also, many thanks for your continued reviews. :) We're approaching the home stretch... Only two more chapters after this one! **

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Starting Fresh**

Flack did his best to ignore the stares and whispers as he made his way through the precinct, but he could have done without the pointing. He'd tried hiding the shiner with a big pair of sunglasses, but the bruise was so huge that even that didn't help. He knew that his face looked like it had gone through a meat tenderizer, and he wasn't anxious to answer questions about why, so he avoided eye contact with everyone and kept his pace brisk. Snippets of conversation he picked up, though, told him that the other officers already knew what had transpired the night before. That was the problem with getting punched in a bar full of cops.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. He couldn't blame Danny for punching him. If Flack had been in Danny's position, he would have done the same thing. What Flack said about Terra was uncalled for, but it was eating him up inside. To think, that his best friend could have had this secret relationship going on for years…and that he deliberately withheld that information when Flack asked about Terra…

Flack had analyzed that conversation a dozen times. Yeah, Danny hadn't mentioned that he had slept with Terra, but he didn't try to discourage Flack from dating her. In fact, he even said that he'd help – his offer hadn't been enthusiastic, but he still made it. Then there was his admission that he loved Terra – the way he'd said it, so matter-of-factly, like it should be obvious. Danny had never been that casual about using the term "love". When he spoke about his girlfriends, he purposely avoided saying that word.

But then he told Flack that Terra liked him. Why would he do that, if he wanted Terra for himself? Why would he tell Flack about their relationship now, after all these years? Flack didn't know what to think anymore. Danny had described his and Terra's relationship as complicated, and Flack was beginning to think that that was the understatement of the century.

He made it to his desk without incident, but just as he was sitting down, Scagnetti walked up to him.

"Christ, Flack," Scagnetti said, gesturing at the bruise with a jerk of his head, "what the hell happened to you?"

Flack shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. "Little scuffle with Messer. No big deal."

Scagnetti raised his eyebrows, obviously not buying it. "You and Messer? When was the last time you guys fought over anything?" He was silent for a moment, then smiled knowingly, shaking his head. "What's her name?"

Sometimes, Flack really hated working with detectives. It was damn near impossible to keep anything hidden from his fellow cops. They were all trained to read people – their reactions, their body language, their tone of voice. Flack sighed and became engrossed with reorganizing the papers on his desk. "You worked the Chinatown case five years ago, right?"

"Yeah," Scagnetti said with a nod, thankfully not acknowledging the change in topic. "Bastards almost got away from us."

Flack pursed his lips. "You know Terra McQueen then. She was the FBI agent assigned to the case?"

Scagnetti cocked his head to the side, as if trying to remember. He could remember details at the drop of a hat, but he wasn't quite as adept at recalling names. He was probably trying to place Terra – there had been several agents assigned to the Chinatown case, if Flack remembered correctly.

"Was she the girl Messer banged in the supply closet?"

Flack froze halfway through shuffling a stack of papers. He'd heard that story. Everyone had heard that story. It was famous – made its way through the entire NYPD in a matter of hours, which was probably a record for gossip. Mac had caught Danny _in flagrante_ with some girl in one of the supply closets in the lab. Danny had gone to a disciplinary hearing because of it. It wasn't the first time something like that had happened – it was Danny's first time, but supply closet trysts were nothing new to the department – so Flack knew he wasn't in any danger of losing his badge – but Mac had apparently seriously considered firing him.

He asked Danny about it later, but he wouldn't say anything. Flack suspected it was because it had to be embarrassing – to get interrupted while doing that by Mac of all people – and didn't press the issue. He half hoped that Danny would spill the details after a few beers, but Danny remained tight-lipped. And now he knew why – Terra.

Terra was the girl from the supply closet. And if she was the girl from the supply closet, then maybe she was the girl from the Statue of Liberty, too. That was a story that had quickly worked its way through the department as well. Danny and whoever the girl had been were banned from the Statue of Liberty for years – Flack was pretty sure he was only recently allowed back there. He also received another official reprimand and was cautioned against taking such risks, as the next offense could cost him his job. Flack, again, asked about it, and Danny, again, refused to say much.

All of this was making Flack's head spin. Danny and Terra had been involved since the beginning? Why was Flack just finding about this now? He was a detective! He was supposed to be able to figure out this kind of shit! His face became hot. He'd had his suspicions; he just hadn't wanted to believe it. Because Terra was the first woman he'd been interested in for quite some time, and he was willing to deny what was right in front of his face the whole time.

"I guess so," Flack said, coughing. He cast his mind about, searching for a believable segue. "She's, uh, helping with the bodega killings."

"Yeah?" Scagnetti said, nodding slowly, that same damn smile still on his face. "Good. Means you'll get the bastard that did it. You know she's the reason we actually managed to catch the one guy in Chinatown? If it hadn't been for her, they all would've gotten away from us. She's a firecracker, that one, but she's damn good at her job."

Scagnetti glanced at something over Flack's shoulder. "Speak of the devil." Flack turned and caught sight of Terra, winding her way through the desks to his. She was wearing work clothes rather than street clothes, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her badge was pinned to her hip. If she still had her badge, at least she hadn't been fired. His cheeks still burning, he realized he hadn't even asked her how her meeting with her supervisors had gone. He'd left the bar too abruptly the night before.

She saw him and gave him a smile and a wave. God, she looked fucking fantastic. It was unfair for someone to look that good.

He didn't even realize he'd been staring until Scagnetti said, "I'll just leave you two alone then." He headed back to his desk, chuckling. Flack glared at the detective's retreating back and busied himself with his desk.

"Hey," Terra said, not waiting for him to turn around, "I have to head into the lab. We're going to have to start fresh with the evidence, see if we missed anything. You want to come?"

Flack shook his head no, resting his head on his hand as she rounded his desk, so that he hid his black eye from her gaze. "Nah. I've got a bunch of paperwork to fill out, because of what happened." He tried and failed to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Her face became sympathetic. She sat on the edge of his desk, like she belonged there. She smelled faintly of vanilla. "Did you get suspended, too?"

He started to nod and then stopped abruptly, looking up sharply. "You got suspended?"

She gasped and her hands flew to her mouth, and he belatedly remembered that he'd been trying to conceal the bruise. He gave himself a mental slap for being so careless. "Oh, Flack!" she exclaimed, the concern evident in her tone. "What happened to your eye?"

He did his best to look nonplussed. "I got hit in the face with a baseball, remember?"

She didn't look like she believed him. "But it would have started to bruise earlier." She furrowed her brow, and he couldn't help but notice that she looked so damn cute like that. "What happened last night?"

He blinked at the abrupt shift in conversation, amazed that she had managed to piece it together that quickly. He groaned inwardly. Messer must have told her what happened. Son of a bitch. "Why?"

She gave him a look that suggested the answer should be obvious and said, "I came back from the bathroom and you were gone. I asked Danny what happened to you, and he said you'd just decided to go home." Her eyes widened. "Did something happen on your way home? Were you attacked?"

He furrowed his brow, and his eye throbbed. "Messer didn't tell you?"

Terra made a noise of impatience in the back of her throat. "Tell me what?"

Flack looked at her in confusion. Danny hadn't told her? Well, thank God for that. He wasn't sure he wanted her to know what he'd said about her. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how out of line he was. He had no claim over Terra, and whatever happened between her and Messer happened before they had ever met; he'd never worked the Chinatown case, so he'd only heard about her. He wasn't mad; he was frustrated. Here he finally found a girl he liked and had a connection with, and Messer had beaten him to her.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

Terra raised an eyebrow sharply. "Oh, so I'm not comparable to last night's chicken parmesan?"

Flack dropped his head to his desk, instantly regretting it as pain shot through his head. Fuck. She knew. "So he did tell you," he mumbled into the wood.

She clicked her tongue impatiently. "News flash, Flack. I have ears."

He groaned. Of course. It was making its way through the precinct at that very moment; naturally she would have heard someone discussing it. Shit, this was worse than high school, the way gossip spread in this place. He raised his head to look at her, and was taken aback by the hurt in her eyes. Her face remained impassive, but her eyes betrayed her.

"I'm sorry." The apology sounded lame even to him, but he didn't know what else to say. He hated that he'd put that look in her eyes. He'd do anything to take it back, to make that look go away.

She rolled her eyes. "I hate that phrase. Worst phrase in the English language. Completely meaningless." She sighed heavily. "So are you coming to the lab or not?"

He averted his gaze, ashamed to look her in the eye. "I should probably stay here. I – " He stopped abruptly, his shoulders feeling heavy. Some days, he really hated his job. "I have a lot of fires to put out."

"Fine," she said in a very clipped voice. "I'll page you if we learn anything new."

Flack couldn't help but watch the sway of her hips as she walked away from him.

* * *

This was pointless. Stella couldn't see what they hoped to accomplish by having this meeting. They already knew Pamchenko was guilty; there wasn't much else they could do to prove that – they'd only found his prints at the scene and the murder weapon in the guy's bedroom, and he was still nowhere to be found. Innocent people didn't just run away; but guilty people did. He had done it. There was no one else that could have done it. There was no doubt in her mind. 

So really, there was no point to this meeting. But Mac has asked the entire team to meet him in the conference room – a room they very rarely used – in order to review what they'd learned so far. Stella had been the first to arrive, and she sat in the chair next to the head of the table, absentmindedly drumming her fingertips on the tabletop as she impatiently waited for Mac to get this waste of time over with.

Mac sat beside her, his entire body tense, his face haggard. He looked as though he had been up half the night, worrying – not this was all that unusual for him, or any of them, really. Hawkes sat across from her, looking extremely uncomfortable. His eyes kept darting to Mac as though he thought the man was going to explode in front of their eyes. Lindsay had chosen the seat on the other side of Stella; her face was a mask, her curls limp. She didn't appear to have gotten any sleep either. Adam cautiously entered the room, nervously playing with hands and sitting across from Lindsay. Danny ambled in last, casting a brief glance at Lindsay before he settled in the seat beside Adam and dropped his eyes to the table.

"We're all here, Mac," Stella said, not bothering to keep the irritation from her tone. "Let's get this over with already."

Mac shook his head slowly, scrubbing a hand over his chin. "We're not all here."

No sooner had he said that than Terra strolled through the door, carrying a box of something, which she dropped on the table with very little grace. Stella felt her insides burn just at the sight of her. "Good morning, all," Terra said. She glanced at each of them in turn, finally stopping at Hawkes. "Shall we begin?"

Stella whipped around to glare at Mac. "What the hell is she doing here?"

Mac said nothing, but she saw his shoulders move in a silent sigh. She had never seem him so defeated. It was unnerving.

"Careful, Bonasera," Terra said, her voice unnaturally perky. "I'm not having the best day, so I'd advise you not to get on my bad side. I'm feeling particularly vindictive this morning."

Stella ignored her. There was very little that this girl could do to her, anyway. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Terra snorted. "Saving all your asses. Again."

"This isn't your case." Why did she always insist on sticking her nose where it didn't belong? First she had gleefully made them all look incompetent on the Chinatown case. Then her little escapade in the supply closet had almost gotten Danny fired. Now she had the nerve to waltz in her and usurp Mac's control? They had the guy!

"Really?" Terra asked, leaning on the box she'd deposited on the table. "Then why did I spend forty-five minutes on the phone with the Russian ambassador this morning, trying to convince him not to sue the city?"

Stella opened her mouth to let loose with a stinging retort, but snapped it shut before any words escaped. She had talked Mac into getting a warrant for the Pamchenkos' apartment when she knew they had no legal right to go there and search it. She'd allowed herself to forget that little bit of law-breaking in her excitement over finding the murder weapon. That must have been why Mac looked so terrible – if Mr. Pamchenko were trying to sue the city, surely the Chief of Detectives would have caught wind of it, and as Mac was the one who asked for the warrant, he would bear the full brunt of the chief's wrath. Guilt gnawed at her stomach.

Mac was the one who spoke next. "What do we do, Terra?"

Terra sighed. "Start over. Reexamine every piece of evidence that was collected legally to see if there's anything we missed. We leave nothing to chance. Everything gets done by the book."

"We always do everything by the book," Mac said thinly, his eyes narrowed.

Terra returned his look with an icy glare of her own. "My imminent suspension begs to differ. But this isn't about me." Stella raised her eyebrows in surprise. She almost sounded like she meant it. "It isn't about you. It isn't about any of us. It's about the nine people lying on slabs in the morgue. We owe it to them to bring justice to whoever did this. I am not letting another killer slip through my fingers."

Stella grudgingly admitted that the girl had a point. But she was still overstepping her bounds. "And who put you in charge?"

"The governor," Terra said, bracing her hands on the table and staring straight at Stella. Stella refused to look away. "If you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with him. I have him on speed dial, if you want to give him a call."

Growling, Stella sank back into her seat. She wasn't sure if Terra was bluffing, but she wasn't about to risk it.

"Now then," Terra said. She pointed to Mac. "Taylor, I want you to go through the ATM footage again. We stopped reviewing the tapes after we found Kozlov. Go earlier. See if you can find something else – and for God's sake I hope you find Pamchenko on there."

Mac nodded shortly, not even bothering to argue, but he didn't get up from his seat. "Bonasera," Terra said as she gingerly lifted the box, maneuvered her way around the table, and unceremoniously dropped it in front of Stella. "You're the nosiest person I know. You get to do background checks."

Stella glanced inside the box, finding that it was full of folders crammed with papers. She pulled out one folder and opened it, her eyes scanning the first page. "What's this?"

"Background information on everyone that's worked for the Russian consulate for the past two years. The Sh-18 clearly proves that it was someone from the consulate. I want you to go through everything. Look for someone who may have lodged a complaint against the consulate, was fired, whatever."

"I know what to look for," Stella snapped, annoyed at the insinuation that she didn't know how to do her job. She'd been sporting her badge when Terra was still in undergrad; the girl had no right to speak to Stella in that manner.

"Good," Terra grunted, walking back around the table. "Then I expect results soon. You two," she said, pointing at Danny and Lindsay, "go back through everything collected from the bodega. Run it again. And when you've finished doing that, run it again."

Lindsay stared at Terra. She looked less than thrilled. "What are you expecting us to find?"

Terra shrugged. "No clue. Maybe nothing. But the evidence is there. I'm sure of it." Terra turned to Hawkes. "You, Doctor, are taking me to the morgue. We're going over the autopsies with that medical examiner of yours. I want to know everything about these people."

Hawkes nodded, but remained in his seat, as did everyone else. Terra glanced around, incredulous. "Why are you all still sitting here? Go!"

"What about me?" Adam asked as everyone shuffled off to complete their assigned tasks.

"You?" Terra asked, letting out a bark of laughter. "You get down on your knees and thank whatever deity you pray to that you still have a job. And after you do that, I suggest you read over your job description and commit it to memory."

Adam blushed bright red and lowered his head to stare at the table. Stella grabbed Terra's wrist as she approached the door. "That's unfair," she growled. "He was just doing his job."

Terra glanced at the grip Stella had on her wrist, nonplussed. "Funny," she said, her tone blank, "when he does it, he's just doing his job. When I do it, I'm unprofessional."

"Different circumstances," Stella muttered, although she knew that wasn't the case. Adam constantly went above and beyond the call of duty, and Stella never thought anything of it. Terra had only done it once, and had earned Stella's wrath forever.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She'd done a lot more than that.

"He likes to do a good job," Terra said, "I get it. But this is a multiple homicide. We can't afford to take any chances because your lab tech wants to play CSI."

Stella released the girl's arm and shifted the box in her arms. It wouldn't do well to argue with her; she was too stubborn to ever admit that she was wrong. "Do you really think all this work is going to make any difference?"

"It had better. Or we're all screwed." She stared at Stella for a moment longer before saying, "Good God, woman. Don't you ever tweeze?" She flashed Stella a smile before scampering out of the room.

It took every ounce of self-control Stella possessed not to hurl the box of files after her. Mac must have seen her inner struggle, because he wandered over and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "She's just trying to get a rise out of you," he said quietly.

"I can't believe you're going to let her talk to Adam that way," Stella murmured, slightly surprised that he hadn't leapt to Adam's defense.

Mac shook his head. "We made a mistake, Stella, the three of us." He indicated Adam with a jerk of his head. "Our mistake nearly cost Terra and Don their badges. She is, understandably, upset. Besides," he said after a pause, "if you knew her, you'd know why she's reacting this way."

"I do know her," Stella grunted. She knew plenty.

"No, you don't," Mac said. "And neither do I, really. But I know what she's been through, and, while I don't condone her behavior, I can certainly understand it."

Stella rolled her eyes. Terra had been raised in a life of privilege and luxury. What did she know about hard times? "So you're just going to let her waltz in here and take over our investigation?"

"It's her investigation. She let us run it as a professional courtesy. She trusted us to do our jobs, and we didn't." He sighed. "We owe her the same courtesy."

Stella really didn't think so.

* * *

As long as he lived, Danny would never understand women. 

His friendship with Aiden, his viewing Stella as a slightly overbearing older sister, his abnormally close relationship with Terra… All of this had not taught him a damn thing about the inner workings of a woman's mind. What was the point of having a girl for a best friend if you were still as clueless as ever?

Part of the problem, probably, was that Terra was not a traditional girl. She could be feminine, when she wanted to be, but having been practically raised by her brothers made her slightly less girly. Occasionally, her behavior did confuse him – like the night before. She came out of the bathroom, joined him at the bar, and told him she was going home. She said it was because the whiskey had gotten to her, and she needed some sleep. He offered to take her home, to make sure that she got home safely, but she brushed him off, saying that he should stay at the bar and spend some time with Lindsay. She gave him a hug and made her way out of the bar.

He was still staring after her, completely confused, when Lindsay found him. He asked her to sit down, offered to buy her a drink, but she declined, saying that she wasn't feeling well and that she needed to go home. First, he tried to talk her out of it, to convince her to stay and hang out with him for a while. He'd been looking forward to spending some time with her outside of the lab, which they hadn't done in a long time, and he wanted to talk to her anyway. They needed to talk. When he realized she wasn't having any of it, he offered to take her home. She shook her head no, saying that she would just take a taxi.

When she was gone, Danny dropped his head to the bar. He had a sinking feeling that Terra told Lindsay about the two of them. He wished she hadn't. He'd wanted to do that. He'd wanted the chance to explain everything as best he could, though he hadn't done a very good job explaining things to Flack. But he had very little control over what Terra did, and he knew she'd probably been practicing what to say to Lindsay ever since he had told her about their conversation in the hallway.

Actually, Terra's exact words had been, "Do you want me to kick her ass?" Remembering Annie Carmichael's totaled Jaguar, he told her that wouldn't be necessary.

Danny suspected that Terra had stuck him and Lindsay with the mountain of evidence in order to give them ample opportunity to talk. As it was, they'd barely said a word to each other, their noses buried in their respective tasks. However, even not speaking to each other, they soon fell into a rhythm. It never ceased to amaze him how well they worked together. It made him wish that they could move past whatever walls they'd constructed and just fucking be together already. He was not the world's most patient person. A year and a half was long enough.

"Lindsay," Danny said, his voice coming out raspy.

She glanced up at him, her curls falling softly in her face, and on impulse, he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He let his fingers linger on her face for longer than could be considered a friendly touch. God, she was so beautiful, it actually made his heart ache.

"Yes, Danny?" she asked, her voice wavering a bit as she straightened her shoulders.

He licked his lips. There was no easy way to say this, so he was just going to have to take a page out of Terra's book and come out with it. "About me and Terra – "

She shook her head and cut him off with a wave of her hand. "You don't need to tell me anything, Danny."

He resisted the urge to scream in aggravation. He knew her well enough to know that she was lying. Why the hell did women have to be so damn frustrating? Why couldn't they ever just say what they meant? "Maybe I don't have to," he said. He felt like throwing or breaking something. "But I want to. Lindsay, Terra and I are – "

She turned away from him, groping for another evidence bag. "Danny, please. I don't want to hear it."

"Dammit, Linds," he grunted, walking around the table so that he was looking her in the eye, "I need to tell you."

She met his gaze, and he blinked at the sight of tears in her eyes. "Did it ever occur to you that I don't really want to hear about you and another woman?"

He bit the inside of his cheek, momentarily dropping his eyes to his feet. The guilt was back, gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He had to keep reminding himself that he and Lindsay weren't together, and it was not because he didn't want to be. It was because she didn't want to be. He understood that she was hurt, but she had hurt him, too. He wasn't the only one to blame in the tangled mess their relationship had become. "Did it ever occur to you that I went to her because you pushed me away?"

Lindsay narrowed her eyes. "Did it ever occur to you that I had a good reason for pushing you away?"

Danny didn't believe that for a second. He maybe could have bought that excuse before she left for Montana, but what reason did she still have to keep shutting him out? All he wanted to do was be there for her, and she wasn't letting him. "Did it ever occur to you that I might have wanted to help you?"

She took a step closer to him, poking him bodily in the chest. "Did it ever occur to you that I didn't want you to see me like that?"

He blinked. That he could understand. As much as he wanted it to be Lindsay who came to comfort him at the hospital after Louie was attacked, he was glad that it ended up being Mac. At the time, he hadn't wanted Lindsay to see him break down like that. He didn't want to seem weak in front of her. But now it was different. Danny was in love with her; he wanted her to know everything about him. He wanted her to know him the way Terra knew him, only better. He wanted Lindsay to know every part of him; he wanted to know every part of her. He felt hurt that she didn't trust him enough with her secrets, that she obviously didn't feel like she could come to him when she needed someone. She apparently preferred to deal with everything on her own.

He gently placed his fingers underneath her chin, lifting her face to meet his. "Did it ever occur to you that I wouldn't give a rat's ass, I just want to be with you?"

Okay… That hadn't come out quite as he'd intended it. She stared at him, her eyes big and open, her cheeks flushed, her lips slightly parted. She looked so damn kissable right then, and oh, hell, he wanted to kiss her. He brought his other hand up to lightly touch her cheek and inched forward, not caring one goddamn iota that they were in the middle of a lab with glass walls.

Lindsay pulled back, moving away from his touch and halting his approach. "Did it ever occur to you that this isn't accomplishing anything?"

He begged to differ. If she had just let him kiss her, he had a feeling that would accomplish a lot. But then he followed her gaze and noticed that their argument had attracted the attention of every tech within earshot, and everyone was staring at the two of them. He took a step back, putting even more distance between the two of them. "You mean aside from giving the lab rats a good show?"

She gave him a weak laugh and returned her attention to the microscope. "We should probably get back to work."

"We need to talk, Lindsay," Danny said, bracing his hands on the table. "Don't push me away again because of this. Please."

There must have been something in the tone of his voice that gave her pause, because some of the ice faded from her stare. She nodded almost imperceptibly, and he was able to breathe again. "But I don't think now's a good time to talk," she murmured. "We have work to do."

"Right," he said, switching back into 'work mode'. He and Lindsay were quite good at shifting. It wasn't the first time they had practically ignored an earlier argument or awkward encounter in order to get the job done. "Right. Well, we've got our work cut out for us." He picked up the nearest evidence bag. "How long did it take to process this stuff the first time?"

"Too long," Lindsay groaned, rubbing her eyes. She turned away from the microscope, shaking her head slowly. "Maybe we're going about this all wrong."

He raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "Terra told us to look at the evidence again." He was pleased to note that she kept the bitterness in her voice to a minimum. "Maybe our problem isn't with the evidence itself, but our interpretation of it."

He grinned, catching on to what she was saying. "So we should try looking at everything in a different context."

She smiled slightly. "Exactly. What was the first piece of evidence we identified?"

He pursed his lips, thinking. "Probably the fingerprint." He paused, realization dawning over him. "Which came back to Pamchenko."

"Other hits?" she asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Danny clenched his hands reflexively.

He shook his head, paging through the case file in order to keep his hands busy. "Nope. The counter had obviously been wiped down that morning, and the blood destroyed the ridge detail on most of the other prints."

Lindsay's eyes widened slightly. "Sheesh, Danny. We based all our findings on that one fingerprint. All the conclusions we drew about what happened were because we found that fingerprint on top of the blood spatter."

"Okay," Danny said, leaning his hip against the table and crossing his arms, "so are there any other ways that fingerprint could have gotten on the counter?"

"Well," Lindsay murmured thoughtfully, "it's not impossible to plant a print."

Danny cocked his head to the side. "Would explain why we only found one. Out of the workable prints Stella lifted from the counter, only one came back as a match to Pamchenko."

"Right," Lindsay said with a nod. "So, okay, let's forget about the print. Pretend it never existed."

"Done." Danny winked at her, and she blushed. "So what else do we have?" He sifted through the evidence envelopes. "The fibers you found on the sidewalk?"

"From a 2006 white Hummer limo," Lindsay reminded him. "Terra says that the Pamchenkos use a white Hummer to get around town." She trailed off, her brow furrowed. "Not that they're uncommon, but the murder weapon clearly ties back to the consulate. And anyone there would have access to the Pamchenkos' limo."

Danny licked his lips. Lindsay may have been onto something. "How many people do you think have access to the Pamchenkos' apartment?"

Lindsay scrunched up her nose in thought. "You think the gun was planted?"

He lifted one eyebrow. "Could be. There's no real evidence connecting Pamchenko to the scene except that one print. And Adam called and was asking all those questions about the limo and everything. Not that hard to think that someone at the consulate found out we were coming and tried to dump the gun. I think we have to look at the definite possibility that someone's trying to pin the crime on this guy."

She looked so cute when she was confused. "But why would anyone try to frame a guy with diplomatic immunity?"

Danny didn't have an answer to that question.

* * *

Hawkes had to hand it to Terra; she was thorough, if nothing else. She cut right to the chase when they walked into the morgue, flashing Sid her badge and explaining the situation to him. Hawkes was slightly surprised that she didn't go into the details; he thought she would relish the chance to lambaste Mac. But all she did was tell Sid that some of their evidence was being called into question, and they needed to reexamine everything. Sid was eager to do whatever he could to help, so he followed Terra's orders without question. 

They went through each victim one by one. Sid would open the drawer containing the body and review all the details of his autopsy report with Terra and Hawkes. He didn't even go off on tangents about a girl he used to date, which Hawkes suspected was because Terra looked like she might shoot him if he did – and the gun on her hip was clearly visible from the way she was standing. Hawkes, though he had already been through this once before, listened attentively, waiting to see if there was anything he had missed the first time. Terra nodded along, stopping every so often if she didn't quite understand the medical terminology or procedures.

"I thought you had a doctorate," Hawkes said, smiling a bit. "Shouldn't you know this stuff?"

Terra rolled her eyes. "Cute, Doctor," she said, not unkindly. "Can we focus, please?" She turned back to Sid. "Were you able to identify that last victim?"

Sid nodded, producing a file, which Hawkes took from him. "Through dental records. Her name is Polina Sokoloff. She's from Russia, here on a student visa."

Hawkes paged through the file. There was no age listed, but from the rest of the information, he gathered that she was probably in her mid-to-late twenties. She had been shot three times – once in the leg, once in the stomach, and once in the arm. Hawkes remembered from her autopsy that no single gunshot wound had been fatal; it was the combination of the three that killed her. She died of exsanguination. Hawkes pulled out the girl's photo in the file and showed it to Terra. "Does she look familiar?"

Terra leaned closer to better examine the picture. After several long moments, she lifted one shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug. "Vaguely. I see a lot of people at the consulate, and if she were here on a student visa, she'd probably been there once or twice. I may have seen her in passing." He could see her tongue moving inside her cheek. "Can I see the file?"

Hawkes obliged, handing it over so that she could read it. Something suddenly occurred to him, and he glanced up at Terra. "The guy from the sidewalk – you said his name sounded familiar. Do you remember him?"

Terra pursed her lips, her cheeks turning a furious shade of red. "Yeah," she said, not even looking up from the file. "I, uh… It turns out I went to high school with a guy named Nick Cooper." She clucked her tongue. "Definitely not the same guy."

Sid raised his eyebrows and slid the drawer back. "The autopsy results haven't changed since you were here before, Sheldon. What exactly are you hoping to learn?"

"The connection," Terra said, her eyes still on the folder in her hands. "Why the bodega? Why now? None of this makes any sense."

Hawkes and Sid exchanged a look. "Sometimes in this line of work," Hawkes said, offering a sympathetic head tilt, "things don't make sense."

Terra made a noise of frustration and tossed the file folder down. Then she started pacing. "This is unbelievable. We have a suspect we can't find, evidence we can't use, victims with absolutely no connection…" She trailed off, turning on her heel to face the two men. "Maybe this was totally random."

Hawkes could understand the frustration she was feeling; they were all feeling it. It was impossible not to, with a case this huge. Their lack of evidence, directly contributing to their lack of suspects, served to have them all on edge. The type of weapon had led them to believe that the attack had been planned, but with no connection between the victims and no viable suspect, he was beginning to come around to the whole random idea.

"Are you suggesting that someone threw a dart at a map of the city and just decided to hit wherever it landed?" He picked up the discarded file and opened it once more.

"I've heard of stranger things."

Hawkes furrowed his brow. The lack of evidence indicated that the entire thing had been random. However, the ferocity of the attack suggested otherwise. Whoever had done this had to have been triggered by something. Hawkes found it hard to believe that this killer had just woken up that morning and decided to march into a bodega and murder nine innocent people.

Terra groaned and braced her hands on one of the slabs, seemingly unaware of the fact that she was leaning over a dead body. "Are you sure that there were no anomalies with cause of death?"

Sid shook his head. "Multiple gunshot wounds or exsanguination for all of the victims." His tone was that of practiced patience.

Hawkes quickly scanned the pages in Polina's file and found something of interest. "Did you read this statement from her roommate?"

"No," Terra said. She cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

"She was dating someone at the consulate."

A grin spread slowly across Terra's face. "I do believe you just found the connection."

Hawkes pursed his lips. "But we can't prove that she was dating Pamchenko."

"Doesn't matter. We just connected the consulate to the bodega. That's what's important." She glanced down at the body she was leaning over, and her face drained of all color. She whipped her head around to stare at Sid. "What's this guy's story?"

Sid's face brightened as he wandered over to the body to which she was referring. "Mr. Hudson. Divers pulled him out of the river this morning."

Hawkes didn't see what this had to do with anything, but Terra continued her line of questioning. "Were you able to ID him?"

"Still waiting for dental." Sid slipped on a pair of latex gloves and lifted one of the victim's arms, displaying his fingers. "He doesn't have any fingerprints."

Indeed, his fingerprints appeared to have been sanded off. The water had obviously done some damage, but the tips of his fingers were red and raw. Hawkes could see the gears turning in Terra's brain. Her eyes darted back and forth rapidly, taking in all of the body that lay before her. "How long do you estimate he was in the water?" she asked.

Sid lightly touched the victim's distended stomach. "Judging by the bloating, he was probably submerged three or four days."

Terra nodded thoughtfully. "Was he dead before he hit the water?"

"Oh, most definitely," Sid exclaimed, pushing the victim up by his shoulders. "Gunshot wound to the back of the head. It will be difficult to determine the type of ammunition, due to the damage around the wound."

Hawkes cleared his throat loudly, interrupting whatever question Terra had been on the verge of asking. She turned to look at him, one eyebrow twisted quizzically. "Terra, why is this important?"

Terra ignored him, producing her phone from her front pocket and hastily dialing a number. She put the phone to her ear. "Flack? It's Terra. I think we just found Alexi Pamchenko."


	11. Run

**A/N:** **Holy crap. I didn't realize it had been quite so long since I updated. I truly meant to have this finished before the finale. And then the promo was released. And seriously, could ANY of us concentrate after that promo? And then the finale… Suffice it to say, I haven't been able to focus for a long time. Then I had a mini-vacation, and now I'm finally back and working on this. My sincerest apologies for the amount of time it has taken me to update. **

**However, I have been assured that this chapter was well worth the wait.  
**

**The GW refers to the George Washington Bridge.**

**Though this chapter is being posted un-beta'd, I would like to thank Spunky for the partial pre-read and Mandy for all her help.**

**Thank you very much for the continued reviews. One chapter to go after this!**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Run**

"Let me get this straight," Flack said, glancing back and forth between Hawkes and Terra so often that Terra was starting to get motion sick. "Are you seriously telling me that our prime suspect is dead?"

"As a doornail," Terra said, only the slightest bit of irritation in her voice, as she'd already said that very fact three times prior. Apparently Flack thought if he kept asking, she would change her answer.

They had once again gathered in the conference room. Terra had, naturally, alerted Flack to the knowledge that their best and only suspect was currently in the morgue and had been so for several days. Flack had called Taylor to apprise him of the situation; Taylor had assembled the rest of the crew, with the exception of the lab tech – whom Terra suspected was hiding from her, and rightly so – and Bonasera. Now the six of them were trying to puzzle their way through this new development.

Hawkes raised his eyebrows at Terra, clearly amused that she was jumping to conclusions again. "We have to wait for dental records to confirm. The state of the body made a visual ID unreliable."

Danny gave them his patented 'what the fuck' face. "Wait, so how long's he been dead?"

"Sid estimates at least four days," Hawkes said.

"Do you know what that means?" Terra asked, looking pointedly at Taylor. He was nodding, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. She could feel herself starting to smile, too. Things were starting to turn around and go their way. Finally.

"With Pamchenko no longer a suspect, we can enter the murder weapon into evidence again," he replied. He reached for his cell phone. "I'll call Adam, have him dust it for prints."

Terra rolled her eyes, her anger at the lab tech not having dissipated in the past few hours, even with this twist in the case. It was not the first time she had dealt with techs mishandling evidence, and after what happened before, she was bound and determined not to let it happen again. She refused to let another guilty man go free because some lab rat didn't understand the parameters of his job. She snorted without really meaning to, earning herself more than one raised eyebrow. "Oh," she said, when she realized that everyone was staring at her, "it's just… Do you guys seriously only have one tech?"

"If he's been dead four days," Flack began, looking around the room as though waiting for someone to contradict him, "how did his fingerprints end up at a three-day-old crime scene?"

"Simple," Lindsay said. Everyone turned to look at her. "They were planted. By someone who obviously had very close access to Alexi."

Danny nodded. "Probably whoever killed him. Take him out, lift his prints." He pantomimed doing just that. "Trouble is – "

"We can't prove that," Lindsay finished for him. "And we have no idea how his prints were planted."

"I think I can answer that," Hawkes said, casting a quick glance at Terra. She motioned for him to continue. He was the doctor, after all, and he had been the one who realized what had happened to Pamchenko's prints, when the medical examiner mentioned that they had been removed. Hawkes stepped forward, gripping the back of the chair in front of him. "They were sliced off."

Flack made a noise of disbelief in the back of his throat. "Get out of here."

Lindsay put a hand over her mouth; she looked like she was about to be physically ill. Terra had seen a lot of stuff in her time at the FBI, but this was definitely one of the more disturbing things she had ever encountered. "Who would do something like that?"

Hawkes answered that question as well. "Someone with medical training. At first glance, it appeared as though someone had taken a belt sander to the tips of Alexi's fingers. But on closer inspection, Sid and I discovered that the fingerprints themselves had been surgically removed."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Danny said, gesturing madly for Hawkes to stop talking. "What are you saying, Doc?"

"Someone cut off Pamchenko's prints and glued them to his own fingers," Terra explained impatiently, holding up her hand, fingers spread, as a visual aid. "That's how his prints wound up at the scene of a crime he was a little too dead to commit." She jerked her head towards Taylor, who was still on the phone with the lab rat. "And I'd wager that you're probably going to find his prints all over that gun, too."

Danny pursed his lips and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Any salvageable trace from Pamchenko?"

Hawkes shook his head. "Not after being underwater that long. Apparently they found him by accident. They were looking for someone who jumped off the GW and found him instead."

Taylor finally got off the phone with Ross and wandered back into the discussion. "Are we all in agreement that this was someone at the consulate?" he asked.

Terra nodded. "I think that's a fair assumption. The Sh-18, the Hummer fibers…"

"And one of the victims was in a relationship with someone who worked there," Hawkes added.

Lindsay furrowed her brow. "Could this be a love affair gone horribly wrong?"

"Judging by the number of times Sokoloff was shot," Terra mused, "it's a definite possibility." She had to hand it to Monroe – the girl was no slouch in the brains department. That had to be a welcome change for Danny, considering the bimbos he usually dated.

"Hold on," Flack interrupted. "This still doesn't make any sense. Why in God's name would you frame a guy with diplomatic immunity? And if you're going to frame him, why kill him?"

"Maybe killing Pamchenko wasn't part of the plan," Taylor said. "Maybe he found out what the killer was up to, and he had to be silenced."

"Maybe the killer thought we'd stop looking after we found him dead," Danny muttered, collapsing into a nearby chair.

Terra raised her eyebrows. She had learned years ago, when she first met Danny, that he often came up with his best ideas in jest. She guessed it was so that if someone brushed it off, he could claim it was a joke. But she never tossed aside anything he said. He was a lot more intuitive than some people gave him credit for. Not when it came to women, of course, but really, what guy was? "That actually makes sense."

Lindsay smiled a bit, her eyes directed at the ceiling. "Danny making sense? That's a new one."

The wounded look Danny shot in her direction held more mirth than hurt. Terra smirked inwardly. Forcing the two of them together had obviously been a good idea. "I know, hard to believe, right? But what if the killer planned on framing Pamchenko for the sole reason that he had diplomatic immunity?"

"He underestimated us," Taylor murmured. "He probably assumed we would stop investigating when all the evidence tied back to Pamchenko."

Terra smiled in spite of herself. "He obviously doesn't know us very well."

"Still begs the question of who did it," Flack grunted irritably. "Our only suspect is dead. I don't suppose one of you has another one?"

Bonasera sauntered into the room, waving a file folder. "I think I may have one," she said. "Someone who works at the consulate was in the Russian military as a paramedic." She handed the file to Flack. "He has direct access to the Pamchenkos' apartment and – "

"Son of a fucking bitch," Flack growled, shutting the folder with a snap. He met Terra's gaze with a ferocity that startled her, and she was just a little ashamed to admit that it aroused her, too. His eyes burned with the same intensity that they had when they were questioning…

"Kozlov," she snarled. "_Foda_."

"We had him," Flack said. "We had him and we let him go."

Terra whirled around and kicked the wall with all the strength she could muster, which she regretted instantly, as she was fairly certain she broke a toe. This was not going to happen again. He was not going to get away with this. She was not going to let him get away with this. She couldn't count on a lot of things in life, but she should always be able to count on justice. It had failed her once; she refused to let that happen again.

She knew, deep down, that there had been no evidence connecting Kozlov to the crime, other than his image on an ATM camera two nights before the attack. She knew, logically, that they had no way to hold him, that nothing had been found at his apartment. But that didn't stop the gurgling in her stomach that signaled the return of her ulcer. It didn't stop the blackness from dotting her eyes, blurring her vision, as visions of Jake flashed in her mind.

The blackness scared her. It always had. It was the black spots, the blurred vision, that almost always signaled a total loss of her control. She could count the number of times she had lost control on one hand, but it wasn't something she cared to relive.

She grabbed her jacket from off the back of one of the chairs and stormed towards the door. "Saddle up, Flack. We're going to get this _filho da puta _if it's the last thing I do."

Flack needed little more persuasion. He roughly shoved the folder back into Bonasera's hands and headed out of the office. Terra pulled her ponytail out from underneath her jacket and moved to follow, but Danny's voice stopped her.

"Don't do anything stupid, Rock," he said, his voice filled with barely veiled concern. She froze mid-step, turning slightly to gaze back at him, before following Flack out the door.

* * *

Flack and Terra had been gone all of thirty seconds before Danny reached for his coat. "I'm going with them," he said, and Lindsay could tell, from the determination in his tone, that there would be no arguing with him. It was difficult to argue with Danny under normal circumstances – his stubbornness was legendary – but when he got like this, it was damn near impossible to change his mind. The others seemed to realize this fact at the same time that Lindsay did, because no one attempted to talk him out of going. 

She felt the first stirrings of jealousy but quickly clamped down on them; she knew that Danny was concerned for both Flack and Terra. And Lindsay, too, had seen the emptiness in Terra's eyes. She did not know much about the woman, but there was no mistaking what that look could lead to. It was uncanny, really, how much Terra and Danny had in common – for Lindsay had seen that particular look in Danny's eyes once or twice before. Perhaps that explained Danny's concern; he knew what could happen and wanted to stop his friend before she made a costly mistake.

But if Danny accompanied them, he could be caught up in the emptiness of Terra's eyes. Lindsay was not prepared to lose him – not now, not ever. Not if there were something she could do to stop it.

She waited another thirty seconds before she followed Danny out the door. She automatically fell into step with him as he made his way towards the elevator, and taking into account that his legs were considerably longer than hers, therefore his stride was much quicker, it was no easy task to catch up to him.

His eyes flicked briefly to her before he focused on buttoning up his jacket. "What're you doing here, Linds?"

Setting her jaw and speaking with more confidence than she felt, she said, "You'll need someone with a cool head."

He didn't stop, but leveled a defiant gaze at her. "You're not coming."

Anger bubbled in the pit of her stomach. He should know by now that she didn't need anyone's protection, that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. "The hell I'm not."

"Linds," he murmured, and she felt a momentary pang that he continued to address her by the common, shortened form of her name. She preferred it when he called her Montana. Everyone called her Linds, but Montana was a nickname that only Danny used. It was his name for her, and she loved every millisecond it took for the word to escape his lips. "I didn't have a choice last time, but there is no way in hell I'm going to sit idly by and watch you put yourself in danger again. It damn near killed me when you went after Ghedi. If something were to happen to you now, I might actually die."

She couldn't stop the flush that tinted her cheeks pink if her life depended on it, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to. But his words resonated with her. Why should he be spared the torture of watching her endanger herself when he was forcing her to face that same pain? "Did it ever occur to you," she said, and she didn't miss the flicker in his eyes, "that I don't want to sit around on my ass, waiting to hear on the police scanner that you've been shot?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, as though attempting to gauge the depths of her concern. She met his gaze, willing herself not to look away, not even to blink, for fear that he would misunderstand what she was trying to say. Their relationship had become a series of misunderstandings. She was determined to end that cycle now.

Caught up in their conversation as she was, Lindsay failed to realize that they had arrived at the elevator until Terra's voice broke into her concentration, causing her and Danny to break their tenuous connection.

"Oh, hell no," Terra grunted, glaring at them from her spot next to the elevator.

"Oh, thank God," Flack said, pushing himself off from the wall. "Messer, talk some sense into her. She won't let me call for backup."

Lindsay snorted with laughter, and Flack scowled at her. She knew she should not have been laughing, but she found it funny that Terra could force Flack, who was nearly a foot taller and weighed quite a bit more, to do anything. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her giggles, and Flack did not look amused.

Terra raised her eyebrows at Lindsay but quickly turned her attention to Flack. "I told you. Kozlov has no idea that we've found Pamchenko's body. Right now, he doesn't realize that we're onto him. If we show up with half a dozen black and whites and a bevy of heavily armed patrol officers, he's going to run. And I hate when they run."

"So what are we going to do?" Danny asked. "Knock on his door, hope he opens it, and then go, 'Yeah, hi, you killed ten people, mind coming down to the station with us?'"

Lindsay grinned. Most people found Danny's smartass comments obnoxious, but she found them endearing. It was just one of the many facets of Danny's personality that Lindsay was finally allowing herself to discover. She'd told him, earlier, that he didn't need to explain his and Terra's complex relationship – partly because she didn't really want to hear all the sordid details, but also because she'd been mulling over her and Terra's conversation the night before. The other woman's insistence that Danny was in love with Lindsay, coupled with her inability to accept Lindsay's reluctance at exploring her own feelings for him, had Lindsay wondering if perhaps it was possible for two people to be so intricately connected without having deep feelings. She had thought long and hard about it, and though Terra and Danny had a friendly banter, there was very little flirting involved. And the other woman did seem genuinely interested in forcing Danny and Lindsay to face their relationship.

And Terra was right about one thing. Lindsay had waited too long to find a man like Danny; she wasn't about to let him go because there were other women in his life. If Lindsay were honest with herself, she would have to admit that she had ex-boyfriends whom she had never quite been able to extricate from her heart. But that didn't mean she loved Danny any less. How could she have thought that it was only possible to love one person at a time?

"Well," Terra said, rolling her eyes and bringing Lindsay back to the conversation at hand, "I wasn't going to open with that, no."

"If you're not going to call for backup," Lindsay said, "you should at least take us with you. We spent hours in that apartment building, and it never hurts to have extra eyes."

Terra narrowed her eyes, staring at Lindsay with an intensity that frightened her, before sighing in exasperation. "Fine."

The elevator opened with a ping, and the four of them got in.

They drove to Kozlov's in silence, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. Flack drove, his fingers drumming absentmindedly against the steering wheel every time they were forced to stop for traffic. Terra rode shotgun, her forehead resting against the window, her eyes trained on some spot on the pavement. Lindsay fidgeted behind Terra, chewing on her thumb knuckle, her body tensed with nervous energy. Danny hummed softly to himself, his eyes on Lindsay. She could feel them boring through her skull.

Danny took the lead when they arrived at Dmitri's building, heading straight for the apartment on the ground floor that belonged to the landlord. The door was slightly ajar; the apartment, empty.

Danny whistled lowly, flattening himself against the doorframe so that the others could peer inside. "Not a good sign."

There were no obvious signs of struggle – other than the open door – but the scene just did not look right. Lindsay unholstered her gun. She very rarely had to do so, and the action felt foreign to her. "Do you think Dmitri did something to him?"

Terra shook her head, her eyes darting around the empty room. "If he did, it's a good bet he knows we're coming."

The four of them tromped up the stairs to Dmitri's apartment on the tenth floor – Flack leading with Danny bringing up the rear. Lindsay gripped her gun tightly, her palms sweating. Flack quietly opened the door to the tenth floor, and they crept down the dingy hallway, guns drawn. They were almost to Dmitri's apartment when Terra stopped abruptly, and Lindsay nearly crashed into her.

"D'you hear that?" Terra whispered to Lindsay.

Lindsay stopped just shorting of going, "Hear what?" as she realized to what Terra was referring. The hallway was deathly silent. There had to be at least twenty apartments on the floor, yet there were no audible signs of life – no televisions blaring, no loud voices, not even the hum of an air conditioner. Lindsay had lived in New York long enough to know that such silence was not normal. The women exchanged a worried glance before joining the two men at the door.

Flack rapped his knuckles on Dmitri's door. "NYPD," he said brusquely. "Open up, Dmitri. We've got a few more questions for you."

He was met with the same stony silence that could be heard throughout the entire corridor. He knocked again, louder this time, but still there was no response. He raised his eyebrows at Terra. Ordinarily, in this situation, they would have the landlord unlock the door for them. However, Dmitri's landlord was missing.

"Now what?" Lindsay asked.

Terra licked her lips and jerked her head at Danny. "Boomer. Floor."

Danny rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Why do I always end up on floor duty?" But he didn't wait for an answer before sprawling on the floor in front of Dmitri's door. He stayed there for several long moments, staring at the small crack of light between the door and the floor, then glanced up at them. "No signs of movement."

Lindsay helped him to his feet, and he smiled appreciatively at her. But his eyes drifted back to the door. He grinned. "Hey, Terra," he said, "does that lock look busted to you?"

Terra cocked an eyebrow, as though confused, and cast a glance at the lock in question. She smiled slowly, shaking her head. "Now that you mention it, it does look like it's been tampered with."

Lindsay was just about to ask what they were smoking when Terra kneeled in front of the door, producing something from her back pocket. Lindsay squinted, trying to figure out what Terra was doing, as she pulled several silver objects from a leather case. Terra looked at Danny. "Time me."

Danny obligingly dropped his eyes to his wristwatch. He ran his tongue along his lower lip, waited a beat, and said, "Go."

"Are you picking the lock?" Flack asked, his voice slightly hysterical. "You can't do that!"

Terra didn't stop what she was doing. "If you can think of a better suggestion, I'm all ears."

Flack groaned, no doubt thinking of the legal ramifications of Terra's actions, but Lindsay thought that Terra had a point. With no landlord to unlock the door, short of kicking it in, there was no other way inside the apartment. And certainly picking the lock was the same as kicking the door in. She and Flack watched as Terra expertly maneuvered the lockpicks; Danny's eyes remained locked on his watch.

"Where did you even learn how to do that?" Flack asked, a distinct note of admiration in his voice.

"My brother Steve taught me." She answered without breaking her concentration.

"What does he do?" Lindsay asked, intrigued.

"Time."

Lindsay looked expectantly at Danny, waiting for him to announce Terra's time. But when Danny didn't move, Lindsay realized that Terra was answering her question. Lindsay pursed her lips, slightly embarrassed. Terra must have sensed her discomfort, because she smiled. "I can also, should the need ever arise, crack a safe."

Flack raised his eyebrows, a smirk playing on his lips. "When would you ever need to know how to do that?"

"You'd be surprised," Terra said, finally meeting Flack's eyes as the deadbolt slid aside with a click. She turned the knob and opened the door, then grinned and glanced at Danny.

Danny clucked his tongue and lowered his arm. "One minute even."

Terra let out a triumphant cry, standing and returning her tools to her back pocket. "That's a new record."

Flack stepped forward, moving past Terra. Terra, however, elbowed Flack out of the way. He narrowed his eyes at her, but she ignored him, slipping into the apartment, gun leading. Flack, growling, went after her. Lindsay was the last to enter, her eyes darting around the noticeably vacant apartment.

Terra whistled, lowering her gun. "You weren't kidding about this place being clean."

They split up. Lindsay ended up in the bedroom. She noticed that the closet door was only half closed, so she made her way over to it. She was just reaching for the knob when she felt a hand close on her wrist. The startled cry froze in her throat as she realized that it was only Danny. He tugged her backwards, drawing her into the protection of his arms, and nudged the door with his foot. When nothing happened, she felt him relax, his relieved breath warm on her ear. She shivered in spite of herself.

He looked at her, and she felt the full force of his stare all the way to her toes. "You cold?" he asked, his voice lower than usual, his accent thicker.

She shook her head, unable to look away. "No."

His eyes flicked to her lips, and she noted that he had yet to release her. She heard his breathing change, felt her hair stand on end…

"Dammit!" Flack yelled from the next room.

Lindsay and Danny leapt apart as though burned. Lindsay nervously straightened her clothing, and Danny awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. His face was a furious shade of red, and she was sure that hers matched it in hue. They quickly made their way into the next room, where Flack and Terra were standing in front of the open window in the kitchen.

"He went down the fire escape?" Lindsay asked, poking her head out the window. Wherever Kozlov had gone, he had obviously left quite some time ago, as there was no sign of him in any direction.

"Fuck, we're never going to find him now," Flack grunted, slamming his palm into the wall.

"Right," Terra said, her tone distant. As Lindsay glanced back at her, she could almost swear she saw the wheels turning in the other woman's mind. She nodded resolutely, turning to face the men. "We split up. Danny, you and Monroe take the roof. Flack and I will go down to the ground."

Lindsay nodded once, conveying that she understood, and moved to go, but Danny stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Why do we have to take the roof?" he asked.

"Because I hate taking the roof," Terra said simply, in a tone that indicated she thought the answer should have been obvious.

Danny held up his closed fist, and Terra, after a moment, did the same. "What do you want?" Danny asked.

Terra licked her lips. "Odds."

Lindsay fought the urge to roll her eyes. They were playing 'Odds/Evens' to determine who went which direction, while a murderer was running loose. Lindsay glanced at Flack, who looked as though he was about ready to scream. There was a vein in his neck that was throbbing; it was quite unattractive. He caught her gaze and shook his head, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. She wasn't sure if he was angered by the fact that they were wasting time, or that Terra and Danny seemed to exist in their own little world.

She watched them as they shot, searching their actions for any signs that something was there, beneath the surface. But the way they interacted… She couldn't see it. She couldn't see anything, other than friendship. Terra told Lindsay, at the bar, that their last two encounters had extenuating circumstances. Lindsay assumed that one of the circumstances was alcohol, but she wondered what the other ones were. She wondered if she even wanted to know.

She wondered if it even mattered.

"Shit," Terra grumbled, as she threw out one finger to Danny's one. Evens again. Danny had won. He smirked, sticking his tongue out at her, and she thumped him hard on the shoulder. He made a big show of being injured, at which Terra rolled her eyes and turned to Flack. "C'mon, Flack. We got the roof."

"Finally," Flack snarled.

They all left the apartment, splitting up in the stairwell. There was a brief exchange of words of caution, murmurings of, "Be safe" and "Take care of yourself", before they parted ways. Lindsay felt her whole body tense as she and Danny made their way back down the stairs. Aside from her short-lived career as an undercover operative on the blood diamond case back in September, she hadn't really confronted a suspect as dangerous as Dmitri. When she visited James Vackner at the prison, they had been separated by glass. She hadn't done an interrogation in ages. She was nervous and a little bit frightened, though it helped that he would already know that she was a cop, that she was armed, and that Danny would be there.

She could take care of herself. But it was nice to know that someone had her back.

Their footfalls echoed in the stairwell, each step punctuating the silence that had descended. This silence, like the one days before at the bodega, was also tense, but for entirely different reasons. By the time they reached the first floor landing, Lindsay could stand it no longer.

"So…" she began, as conversationally as she could. "You slept with Terra."

Danny turned sharply to look at her, stumbling a bit and nearly falling down the last few stairs. "What, you want to talk about this now?"

Lindsay shrugged, mildly amused at his reaction. Sometimes, it was fun to see how much she could rattle the normally unflappable New Yorker. "You said we could talk about it later. It's later."

Danny licked his lips and fixed her with one of his patented stares – the kind that was so intense it seemed as though all he had to do was concentrate hard enough and her clothes would just vanish. "Actually," he said, slowly and carefully, "if I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted to talk later. And when you said later, I was thinking drinks after shift, not when we're on the tail of a murderer."

She pursed her lips. She had been the one who hadn't wanted to talk back at the lab; she thought it would be inappropriate. But now they were faced with the very real situation of one of them getting shot – or even dying – and they might never get another chance. However, she couldn't resist the opportunity to tease him. "Is that all you want from me?" she asked, attempting to sound wounded. "Drinks? Some laughs?"

She held her breath as she waited for his answer. She knew he wanted more. She just wanted to hear him say it.

He growled in the back of his throat, and damn if it didn't arouse the hell out of her. "Shit, Montana, if that's all you think I want, you don't know me that well."

Lindsay felt her cheeks grow hot, and she wondered if there would ever be a time when Danny didn't make her blush. She couldn't quite meet his eye as she asked, "What do you want?"

She heard his breathing change again, as he slowly ascended the steps to where she stood. She chanced a glance at him and saw that his pupils had dilated, and his irises had turned a smoky cobalt color. He graced her with a delicious grin. "You."

Her breath caught in her throat.

"But that's obvious," he continued, taking another step. "What isn't obvious, Miss Monroe, is what you want."

And suddenly he was there in front of her. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. And then the theme from _Rocky_ blared in the empty stairwell.

Danny groaned loudly, rolling his eyes and flipping his phone open with such force Lindsay was surprised it remained in one piece. "Not a good time," he snapped into the receiver. She couldn't hear Terra's voice on the other end, but from the look on Danny's face, she wasn't relaying good news. "Are you sure about that? Okay, okay, you're sure. Damn, woman. Yes, I got you, all right? Fine." He slipped his phone back in his pocket. "Terra says they spotted Kozlov running towards the abandoned building across the street."

Lindsay swallowed but nodded resolutely. Duty called.

The sunlight was blinding after being indoors, and the heat was oppressive. Lindsay cursed the unseasonable warmth they'd been having lately – it was hard to dress appropriately. The jacket she wore was cumbersome, making her feel sluggish. She could barely keep up with Danny, and they were only going across the street. He drew his gun, and she followed suit, a few steps behind him. They cautiously approached the front door, which was boarded shut.

"Well," Danny said, "he didn't go in that way."

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "You think?"

He glared at her and gestured to the left with his gun. "I'll go around that way, you go the other way, and see if we can find where he went in."

"Are you sure it's a good idea to split up?" she asked. Dmitri had already killed ten people; odds were one or two more wouldn't be a big deal to him. She thought it was best to stay together.

"You scared, Montana?" he asked, rolling his tongue inside his cheek.

She narrowed her eyes and abruptly turned and stalked away from him. She could hear his laughter follow her as she rounded the corner of the building into the alley. She was drowning in sweat from her damn coat, so she quickly discarded it, dropping it to the ground. She'd fetch it later; she wasn't particularly attached to it, and since she'd lost weight recently, it didn't really fit anyway.

She made her way around a dumpster that blocked a large portion of the alley and caught sight of the ladder of the fire escape. It was partially lowered – low enough that someone could reach it by jumping. She glanced around, searching for something that she could stand on, but found nothing. She stared apprehensively at the ladder. She would have to jump.

She crouched and jumped as high as she could, stretching her body as much as possible, straining to reach the bottom rung of the ladder. The tips of her fingers barely brushed it before she fell. She tried again, but got no closer. She took a deep breath and got an idea – a running start. She walked back a considerable distance, then took off running as fast as she could. She leapt, stretching her body to the limits, and managed to only just get her fingers around the rung.

For approximately three seconds. Then everything went dark.

* * *

Danny was still smiling as he made his way around his side of the building, his eyes darting around the alley for any signs of movement. He didn't really like the idea of leaving Lindsay alone, but she could take care of herself. That much was evident, since she didn't ever seem to want his help. Plus, he was beginning to think that Terra was full of it. There was no way either she or Flack could be certain that it was Kozlov who had run into this building – not from that height. It was too far. 

Besides, Kozlov was probably long gone. If he was smart enough to frame another person for his crime, then he most likely had an escape plan in place long before he suspected the NYPD might be onto him. It was entirely possible that he had disappeared soon after being hauled into the station.

The alley dead-ended in a brick wall that was way too high to climb – but Danny tried nonetheless. After several failed attempts, he concluded it was impossible. And with nothing nearby to provide a boost, it was unlikely whomever Terra thought she had seen had gone this way. He pursed his lips and blew out a breath. This was a gigantic waste of time.

He turned around and saw the stone steps that led down to a basement door. _Huh. Spoke too soon._ Those kind of staircases were often havens for the homeless, so that could have been who Terra had seen. Danny cautiously peered over the railing. The stairwell was vacant, and the door was open. He debated calling Lindsay, but decided to wait until he was sure he had found something worthwhile. Gun leading, he made his way down the steps, aware of every step he made, desperately trying to keep them as quiet as possible. He peeked inside the basement, but the room was dark. He couldn't see a damn thing.

"Of all times not to have my damn flashlight," he grumbled. He'd never needed it when chasing a suspect before, but maybe he should just start carrying it in his back pocket, if he was going to wind up in these situations. He kept his gun aimed into the room with his right hand and groped for a light switch with his left. After several moments of running his fingers along the wall, they finally made contact. He flipped the switch and flooded the room with light.

He couldn't believe his eyes. The basement in which he now stood looked like a third-rate medical facility. It was filled with equipment that had been considered out-of-date years ago – monitors and tools that were well past their prime, though everything was impeccably clean. There were several discolored spots on the wall, which Danny strongly suspected were blood. He wished he had his kit, though the luminol would be unreliable, because the entire room reeked of bleach. But just going with his gut, he figured that this was where Kozlov had removed Pamchenko's prints – and probably killed him as well.

"How the hell did he get all this stuff?"

Danny walked around the room, examining all the equipment. Without his kit, he wouldn't be able to do much, but he tried to commit as much to memory as possible. They would definitely be back here in a bit.

Movement in the corner caught his eye, and he reacted instinctively, whirling around and leveling his gun and the source of motion. There was someone else in the room. And that someone else was making his way towards the door.

"Freeze! NYPD!"

The guy didn't freeze. They never did. Danny didn't think the phrase, "Freeze, NYPD" had ever worked in the history of the department. The guy fought his way to the door, upending everything in his path in his frenzy to escape. Danny raced to follow, cursing the whole way. The room was contaminated now, any possible evidence destroyed. Mac was going to kick his ass.

He scrambled up the steps after the guy, catching up to him in not time flat. He grabbed him by the wrist and twisted it, pinning his arm behind his back. As the guy struggled against him, Danny caught the familiar whiff of rum – the guy smelled like he had bathed in it. He fought the urge to gag and pushed him against the wall, probably will more force than necessary.

Danny put his face as close to the guy's ear as possible, making sure to breathe through his mouth. "In case you didn't know," he hissed, "'freeze' means 'stop'."

"I didn't do anything!" the guy exclaimed. Danny pulled his head back before the blast of alcohol hit his nose. "I swear!"

"News flash," Danny said, doing a precursory check to make sure the guy wasn't armed. "When you run, you look guilty."

"You were aiming a gun at me!"

"You were at a crime scene!"

"Crime scene?" the guy repeated, sounded genuinely shocked. "I didn't know it was a crime scene! A guy just paid me fifty bucks to trash his room. That's all, I swear!"

Maintaining his death grip on the guy's arm, Danny turned him around and slammed him against the wall again. "A guy? What guy?"

"I don't know. Some guy!"

Danny rolled his eyes. "What did he look like?"

The guy shrugged, albeit with some difficult, since Danny was using one hand to keep him pressed against the wall. "You know. Average."

"Average," Danny intoned, his left hand clenching around the grip of his gun. "Fantastic. You're so very helpful. Remind me to give you the goddamn Medal of Honor." He resisted the urge to knock the guy's head against the wall and struggled to remain calm. He would put pretty good money on the fact that it was Kozlov who had approached him. "Do you remember anything about the guy? Anything at all?"

The guy stared at him, one of his eyes drifted off to the side. "He had weird eyebrows. Like, they were growing together."

Danny remembered Flack telling him that Kozlov had a unibrow. He loosened his grip on the guy's shirt. "Anything else?"

The guy's eyes glazed over, like it was an effort for him to keep his focus on the conversation. "Nope."

"You happen to notice which way he went?"

"Hey, man, all I saw was the money."

Sighing, Danny asked, "You still got it?"

"Yeah," the guy said, reaching into his pocket and producing a fifty-dollar bill. Danny quickly snatched it from the guy's hand. "Hey, what the hell was that for?"

"It's evidence," Danny smirked, waving the bill in the guy's face.

"Am I gonna get it back?"

"Maybe."

There was a sudden boom of thunder, echoing in Danny's eardrums, and instinctively whirled around, attempting to locate the source. It sounded like a gunshot, and it sounded nearby.

_Fuck. Lindsay._

While he was distracted, the guy grabbed his fifty back and took off. Danny hardly noticed. He was off in a flash, scrambling towards the front of the building and around the corner. He should not have left her alone. He should have listened to her when she suggested they stay together. He turned into the alley where Lindsay had gone, and something caught on his toe. He looked down in irritation, angry at the inanimate object that hindered his progress, and felt the blood drain from his face. It was Lindsay's jacket.

Lindsay lay crumpled on the ground a short distance away.

_Fuck. _"Lindsay!"

He ran to her, his heart pounding wildly in his ears. He skidded to a halt and knelt beside her. His fingers instantly went to her slim wrist, feeling for a pulse – he released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding when he found it to be steady and strong. He did a precursory examination, searching for a wound, but there didn't seem to be one. There was no blood – nothing at all, really – to indicate that she had been shot, so what had happened to her?

Not particularly caring about propriety, or how awkward things currently were between them, he pulled her halfway into his lap, cradling her head in his hands. He lightly stroked her cheek with one finger. "Montana. Lindsay, baby, c'mon, wake up. Lindsay."

Her breathing was deep and even, but she was motionless in his arms. "Lindsay," he tried again, shaking her gently, his anxiety growing with every second she remained unconscious. "Lindsay, wake up. C'mon, Montana, don't leave me. Please don't leave me."

_Why won't she wake up?_

Lowering his forehead to hers, he whispered his next words. "Did it ever occur to you that I can't live without you? That I don't even want to try?"

Her head dropped back, away from his, and he pulled away in surprise. She shifted in his lap, and despite the dire circumstances, he had to bite his lip to fight the sudden wave of arousal that accompanied her movements. "Lindsay?"

She slowly opened her eyes and met his gaze.

He let out a whoop of joy and immediately touched his lips to hers. It was a quick kiss, but damn he thought his heart might burst, it was beating so fast. He swore stars exploded behind his eyes, and all just from a simple pressing of lips. There was no finesse, no skill in the kiss – nothing he was known for – but he didn't care. It was Lindsay. There was no such thing as a 'simple kiss' with Lindsay.

He pulled away, and even though the kiss had lasted a second at most, he was breathing heavily. His fingers automatically tangled themselves in her curls.

Lindsay's eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted, as she stared at him, and only then did he realize she was clutching the front of his shirt. She blinked a few times and said, "What, um… What was that for?"

Danny didn't answer her question – technically. "Dammit, Linds, don't you ever scare me like that again. What the hell happened to you?"

She brought a hand to the back of her head and winced. He moved his hand around and felt it – a gigantic bump forming at the base of her skull. His fingers barely brushed it, and she cried out in pain, so he quickly withdrew his hand. "What happened?" he asked again.

She sighed, and her eyes drifted upwards. "I hate being short."

He followed her gaze and saw the bottom of the ladder for the fire escape. And he couldn't help it – he started laughing. Here he'd been thinking she was shot, and she had fallen trying to jump up to get the ladder. Granted, a head injury was no laughing matter, but he was so relieved that she wasn't more seriously hurt that he couldn't control it. Soon he was consumed in a fit of laughter that made his sides hurt.

When he finally managed to calm down, Lindsay smacked him on the shoulder. "It's not funny." But her eyes were smiling, and he resisted the urge to pull her into a tighter hug.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but when I heard the gunshot, I thought for sure – "

"Gunshot?" Lindsay repeated, and she tensed in his arms.

Whatever had just occurred to Lindsay suddenly occurred to Danny. "Dammit," he grunted. "Flack and Terra. They're up on the roof."

Lindsay started to slide from his lap, and though Danny was terrified for his friends, he didn't want to lose the contact quite yet. "We have to get up there. Danny, we have to help them."

Danny swallowed and nodded. "But, Linds, you should go to the hospital. You could have a concussion."

"Screw my concussion. We have to help Flack and Terra."

Danny stared at her for about three seconds before he stood up and helped her to her feet. She was already dialing her phone as he handed her the jacket he'd retrieved earlier. She took it from him with a smile. "This is Detective Lindsay Monroe. I'm near the corner of Bowery and Stanton – we have a possible 998. I need backup and a bus right away."

* * *

Flack wished he had gone first up the stairs. If he had gone first, then he would have had something else to look at besides Terra's ass. Because she had a very nice one, and it looked amazing in those pants she was wearing. After the second time he tripped, she turned around, fixing him with a look that suggested she thought he was nuts. He smiled sheepishly and gestured with his gun, indicating that she keep moving. She did, thankfully, but not before rolling her eyes. 

"Y'know," she said after a while, "you can stare at it all you want, but it'll look the same."

He gave a strangled laugh, embarrassed that she had caught him staring. He hadn't realized she could tell what he was doing. "Well, I don't have much else to look at, back here."

"You might want to concentrate on your feet." He swore he could hear the smile in her voice. "It would be a shame if you fell and chipped those pearly white teeth of yours."

He licked his lips and dropped his eyes to her ass again. "Was that a compliment?"

"Take it as you will," she said, as they finally made it to the roof. Terra opened the door slowly with her shoulder, her left hand clutching her piece. She let Flack go first, his weapon already drawn. He turned completely around, checking the area for any signs of Kozlov, and was dismayed to see that there were at least half a dozen places the little piss-ant could be hiding. He motioned Terra forward with a jerk of his head. Her face fell as she approached him. "Goddamn it. It'll take us ages to search this place."

"Guess we'd better get started then," Flack said.

They stuck close together. There were quite a few service sheds – not to mention the water tower – that could be providing Kozlov with a hiding place, but other than that, the roof offered very little cover. It was safer for them to stay together. And as they walked, Flack wished that, when they had split, they would have had the foresight to stick a CSI with each cop. He wasn't exactly unobservant, but he was used to dealing with people, not evidence. As his eyes swept the roof, he cursed himself for not having a more finely attuned eye. Danny and Lindsay would have been able to spot something that he and Terra might miss.

Then there was the fact that being alone with Terra was not exactly where he wanted to be at the moment. He was still reeling from Scagnetti's revelation earlier that day, wondering how he could have possibly missed all the signs that there was a woman who remained a fairly constant presence in Danny's life for all these years. And the fact that it was possible Danny had told him stories about being in bed with Terra made Flack feel increasingly awkward around her.

But even knowing that she was a big part of Danny's life, even knowing that she had been for a long time and Flack had been none the wiser, didn't change how he felt around her. It didn't change the fact that he couldn't stop looking at her, that he wanted to get to know her better. He was dying to know if some of Danny's stories were true. Danny was right – she was something. She was a lot of things, actually. Most importantly, she was the first woman in months who had really captured his interest, and his mother would smack him upside the head for letting the opportunity pass him by.

Terra's voice interrupted his inner monologue. "Check it out," she said, laying her hand on his forearm to grab his attention. She nodded at the building across the street, which looked to be abandoned. He braced his hands on the ledge, leaned forward slightly, and immediately saw what she was looking at.

A man was crossing the street, glancing around repeatedly, as though to make sure the coast was clear. He stopped once, in the middle of the road, and turned back in the direction from which he had come. Flack couldn't be sure from this distance, but it almost looked like he was looking up at them.

"You think it's Kozlov?" he asked, turning to find that Terra had already opened her phone.

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Can't afford not to check, at this point." She hit a couple of buttons and put the phone to her ear. "Hey. Oh, sorry to interrupt your little lovefest, but Kozlov – you know, the killer we're after – might have gone into the abandoned building across the street. Dammit, Messer, don't question me right now. I'm not in the fucking mood. Just go check it out. You get me? Bite me."

She shut her phone with a snap. Flack pursed his lips. He was beginning to think he had been wrong to be jealous of Danny. Just because the guy had gotten to see a side of Terra that very few people were probably privy to – did that mean Flack had to hold it against him? Danny was a good friend; he clearly had his reasons for keeping his relationship with Terra private. Flack wondered if perhaps Danny had suspected that eventually he and Terra would end up together, and that was why he had never said anything. But then Lindsay had walked up to that tiger cage, and that was the end of that.

"Did you really have sex with Danny in the supply closet?" Damn. He hadn't meant it to come out quite like that.

He would have preferred jumping off the roof to being the recipient of the look that Terra shot him. Her nostrils flared, and her eyes were burning so intensely that they probably could have melted sheet metal. She snorted and stalked away from him, moving across the roof. "I am so not having this conversation right now."

Flack followed her. "I really think we should talk about it." He wanted to hear her side of the story. He wanted to hear from her that there was nothing between her and Danny. He wanted to be able to forget about this whole thing and move on, because he really liked her, and he didn't want to blow his chance because his damn male ego couldn't ignore the fact that she had slept with his best friend.

Terra rolled her eyes and crouched low to check underneath a service shed. Flack was afforded a tantalizing glimpse of the tattoo at the small of her back – which, on closer inspection, did not look as much like Danny's as he originally thought. Now that he knew what it was, he could plainly see the detail of each of the eight dogs.

"You just keep thinking, Butch," she grunted as she straightened. "It's what you're good at."

Flack could only stare after her. She had not just quoted his favorite movie. He groaned inwardly. That settled it. He was gone.

There was a crunch behind him, and Flack froze. He had been so preoccupied with Terra that he'd almost forgotten about Dmitri. He glanced up at Terra, who was also motionless; she turned her head slightly back to look at him, her eyes wide. She'd obviously heard it, too. Somebody was definitely behind him.

He turned as slowly as he could, ducking just in time, as Kozlov swung a baseball bat at his head. He barely had time to recover when Dmitri swung the bat lower – aiming for his stomach – but Flack leapt backwards and out of the way. Kozlov moved quickly, bringing the bat down from overhead, but Flack dodged to the side, catching the Russian's ankle with his own and causing both of them to crash to the ground.

Flack kicked the bat out of Kozlov's reach and into Terra's waiting fingers. Flack watched in astonishment as she smashed it into the side of the service shed, splintering the bat into a dozen pieces. She then hurled the piece still in her hands across the roof. Flack heard it land with a clatter some distance away.

"Bitch," Kozlov snarled, getting to his feet. He advanced toward Terra, but she was ready in a heartbeat, pulling her weapon from her hip holster and leveling it at Dmitri's head. "You don't have the stones to shoot me."

Terra cocked her gun. Her hand was steady, her eyes were cold. Kozlov didn't even flinch – he must have had balls of steel not to be frightened by the look in her eyes. Hell, Flack was scared of her right then. "Try me," she said.

Flack used the opportunity to stand and aim his own gun at the Russian. "It's over, Dmitri," he said, using his most authoritative voice. "We found Pamchenko. We know you killed all those people."

Dmitri laughed, and Flack felt his insides churn. First, this bastard had the nerve to spit in his face, and now he was laughing? Oh… Flack had never wanted so badly to kick a perp's ass. "Oh, you know that, do you? You have no proof."

"You're going to jail, Kozlov," Terra growled. "Assaulting a police officer carries a minimum of three years in prison. By the time you'd be eligible for parole, I'm sure the CSIs will have found more than enough evidence to convict you of murder."

"I cannot go to prison." There was a hitch in Dmitri's voice that Flack recognized as dangerous. He instinctively moved forward, trying to inch his way around the Russian so that he was closer to Terra.

Terra gave an exaggerated shrug. "Well, you will," she said, her tone ice. "We don't take too kindly to multiple homicide here in the States."

Flack took another step closer, moving a little bit to the side. He could see Kozlov's face now, and did not like the look in his eyes. While he was right, in that they had no proof other than gut instinct that he had committed this terrible crime, Flack had no doubt in his mind that he had done this. And the fact that he did not seem at all remorseful for what he had done was chilling. Flack should be used to this by now, but it never ceased to amaze him how many people didn't seem to care one goddamn bit when they took the life of another human being. And this man had taken ten.

"Why'd you do it, Dmitri?" Flack asked, moving another step.

Kozlov inclined his head to the side a bit, looking Flack directly in the eye. "I didn't do anything."

Flack didn't buy it for a second. He had been a cop a long time, and he learned some years ago how to tell when a suspect was lying. Kozlov was lying through his teeth. "Was it about Polina? Did you find out she was nailing Pamchenko?"

That seemed to be the trigger. Dmitri gave a roar of outrage and lunged for Flack's gun. Flack, anticipating the move, managed to dodge it quite easily. What he didn't expect, however, was the roundhouse kick to the abdomen that doubled him over. He managed to keep hold of the gun, drawing it out of Dmitri's reach.

Terra rushed over to help, and it was obvious she had brothers, because her way of helping was to launch into a flying tackle. She caught Kozlov around the legs and brought him crashing to the ground, then scrambled to pin him down. It was a well-executed move that worked very well; unfortunately, she didn't have the bulk to keep him pinned. He threw her off with very little effort and made another grab for Flack's gun. Flack responded with an elbow to Dmitri's chest that left him coughing, giving both Flack and Terra ample time to get to their feet.

But Dmitri recovered more quickly than Flack anticipated. He pushed himself along the roof and swung his legs, bringing both Flack and Terra back to the ground. Flack cracked his head and saw stars for a good twenty seconds. Dammit, he was tired of ending up on his back. He got to his feet as quickly and possible, and though he knew he should help Terra up, the more pressing issue was Kozlov, who was getting away.

Flack took off after him, chasing him in and around the heating pipes, service sheds, and other random oddities that littered a New York City roof. He took a page out of Terra's book and tackled Dmitri. The two became tangled as they rolled across the roof, with Flack finally coming out on top. He reached for his gun and froze.

His holster was empty. Kozlov had somehow managed to procure his gun. Flack felt his heart stop as Kozlov aimed his own gun at him, then quickly jerked his arm to the left and fired over Flack's shoulder.

Terra tried to avoid the bullet, but couldn't quite make it. It caught her in her left shoulder.

The blood rushed to Flack's ears, drowning out her shriek of pain, as he turned around and knocked the gun out of Kozlov's hand. The Russian, however, was no stranger to combat; he effortlessly flipped Flack over his head and scrambled after the weapon. Flack dove for him and caught him round the ankle, but Dmitri kicked him in the face. Flack's hands went to his face for the third time in two days, and he was beginning to wonder if maybe his skull wouldn't just cave in.

Kozlov's fingers closed around the gun, but before he could get a good hold on it, Flack ran at him, kicking the gun away. In response, Kozlov grabbed Flack's ankle and twisted, pulling his legs out from underneath him. Flack landed on his back again. When Dmitri finally managed to stand, Flack kicked him in the balls. He then leapt to his feet, brought his arms together – wrist to elbow – and thumped Dmitri hard in the middle of the back while the man was doubled over. Dmitri collapsed to his knees, his hands still cupping his groin.

Flack went for his gun, but before he could reach it, he was tackled from behind. He threw out his arms to break his fall and only succeeded in scraping the hell out of his forearms as he slid across the roof. He rolled over just in time to see Kozlov coming at him with a particularly sharp piece of his shattered bat, wielding it like a knife. Flack smashed the heel of his hand into Kozlov's nose, and he dropped the weapon. Seizing the opportunity, Flack lunged forward and head-butted him, which considering the monster bruise on the upper half of his face was not his brightest idea.

Dmitri recovered with remarkable speed and backhanded Flack across the face. He tasted blood but paid it no heed, stretching backwards in a last-ditch effort to retrieve his gun. Dmitri, unfortunately, realized what he was doing, and managed to get to it first. He stood up, cocked the gun, and aimed it directly at Flack's chest. Flack's heart stopped again.

Then, quite suddenly, Kozlov screamed. He twisted around, his arms flailing, and Flack saw what the trouble was.

There was a wicked-looking pocketknife embedded right between Kozlov's shoulder blades.

Terra limped towards them, her left arm hanging uselessly at her side. Dmitri, caught up with attempting to remove the blade in his back, didn't even see her approach until she forcefully turned him around. Flack would put good money on the fact that Dmitri probably didn't see her right hook coming, either, until it landed on the bridge of his nose. Kozlov's head whipped around, almost independently from his body, and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Flack stared up at Terra with a mixture of shock and awe. That she'd managed to put so much force into her punch, considering the amount of pain she must be in, was nothing short of amazing. He cast a glance at Kozlov and decided he should handcuff him now, while he had the chance. He produced his cuffs from his pocket and secured Dmitri's wrists behind his back. The knife was still sticking out of his back, so Flack removed it.

"That," he said, handing the knife back to Terra, "was so cool. I didn't know you could punch like that."

Terra lurched as she took the knife from him, and that's when Flack saw how ashen her face was, and how much blood was soaking the sleeve of her jacket. She blinked and mumbled, "Why did you think Danny calls me Rocky?"

Then she collapsed. Flack caught her before she hit the ground and gently lowered her the rest of the way. Thinking quickly, he removed her jacket and tossed it aside, then yanked at his tie. He tied it tightly around her shoulder, using it as a tourniquet, but she'd already lost a lot of blood. He noticed the blood trail that led across the roof and wondered at how she had even managed to pull herself up.

Damn. He'd lost his cell phone in the scuffle, and he didn't even have his radio. He didn't want to leave her to go look for either, but he had to do something. He couldn't let her bleed to death. He brought his eyes back to her face and saw that she was struggling to keep her eyes open. At last she lost the battle, and her eyes closed.

"No, no," he said, lightly slapping her face. "Come on, Terra, stay with me. Terra!"

She didn't respond, didn't react, but her breathing became shallower. He tried again, using a little more force. "Terra! Come on! You better wake up, dammit. Messer will kick my ass if I let you die."

Flack glanced up to find Danny and Lindsay racing across the roof towards them. Well, Danny was racing – Lindsay was following at a more leisurely jog, and she seemed a bit dazed. Danny skidded to a halt and knelt down beside them. His eyes darted back and forth between Kozlov, lying off to the side, and Terra, cradled in Flack's arms. His face went pale when he saw the blood.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded, as Lindsay appeared at his side.

"What's it look like?" Flack snorted, shaking Terra gently. "Open your eyes, McQueen."

But she didn't open her eyes. She went limp in his arms, her head lolling back, her chest barely moving.

In the distance, Flack heard the wail of a siren.


	12. Understanding

**A/N: Presenting, for your enjoyment, the final chapter. Thank you all for staying with me throughout this entire story, and many, many thanks for the continued reviews. They are very much appreciated.**

**Unbeta'd, again, but many thanks to Mandy for all her help.**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Understanding**

Mac felt the bile rise in his throat as he stared through the glass at Dmitri's interrogation. They had been hard-pressed to find someone to conduct it who wasn't totally biased against him. Because in addition to killing ten innocent people, he had also tried to kill a New York City police officer – and may have killed an FBI agent. Flack, as the detective assigned to the case, should have taken it, but he was still at the hospital, waiting for news on Terra. Mac would have taken the interrogation, but after his mistake with the Pamchenkos' apartment, he wasn't willing to risk it.

So he had asked around the precinct. With the importance of the case, most of the officers didn't want to run the chance of screwing it up. Finally, Scagnetti volunteered. Now Mac watched as the seasoned detective got Dmitri to crack. It took a while – Dmitri was adamant that he had done nothing wrong – but as evidence came pouring in, supporting their belief that he had framed Pamchenko for the crime, he began to change his tune.

Mac wasn't sure which was more disturbing – the fact that he had committed this unspeakable crime, his reasons for doing it, or the complete lack of emotion with which he told his tale. As Dmitri told his story, it sounded as though he were describing the events of a movie rather than confessing to a crime. And when Scagnetti asked him why, Dmitri's response was spoken as though he were surprised no one knew.

"I was not good enough for her," he explained. "She wanted him. I am better than he was. And I was going to make sure that she knew it."

Mac had wanted nothing more than to bust through the glass and strangle Dmitri with his bare hands, and from the look in Scagnetti's eyes as he sat back, he had a similar desire. But neither one acted on it, and eventually Dmitri was led away in handcuffs – handled none-too-lightly by the guards. Mac scrubbed a hand over his face. People's motives were getting weaker all the time. More and more people were killing over less and less. It made Mac sick just thinking about it.

There were some days that he hated his job. He hated seeing the lengths people would go to over the most ridiculous things. He hated seeing the looks in people's eyes when they were caught, because more and more, they looked as though they didn't even care – as though what they had done didn't even resonate with them as being wrong. Sometimes, knowing the 'why' behind a crime was worse than not knowing, because it was just another indication of everything that was wrong with society. He couldn't help but think of a teenage Lindsay, trapped in a bathroom as her friends were murdered for no reason. She always wanted to know the 'why'.

More often than not, lately, he preferred not to know.

He was still in the observation room, leaning against the glass, when Stella came looking for him twenty minutes later.

"Lindsay doesn't have a concussion," she informed him, no small amount of relief in her voice. She didn't seem to notice his mood, but perhaps she was just excited to relay the good news. "Just a nasty bump. Doctors say they don't even need to keep her overnight. Danny's taking her home."

"That's good to hear," he said. But truthfully, he hadn't been all that worried about Lindsay. He knew his CSIs, and she was a tough girl. He still vividly remembered the way she had taken down a suspect on her first day. He'd had no doubts that she would be fine. On the other hand… "And Terra?"

Stella pursed her lips. "Still in surgery. She lost a lot of blood, Mac. It doesn't look good."

Mac sighed. He had never really warmed up to Terra, in a personal sense. A lot of that was because of her relationship with Danny, which Mac knew was unfair. However, as an agent, he had a lot of respect for her. She was a highly decorated agent, with more awards and commendations than Mac himself. She probably could be running that branch of the Bureau, but she remained where she was. She hadn't even complained when they'd taken her out of the field, or so he heard. He usually didn't put much stock in idle gossip, but he had to admit that he'd followed Terra's career with great interest, especially after he learned that – despite his campaigning – she would not be fired.

He knew very little about her personal life – only what he could learn from her personnel file and the internet. She was from a wealthy family and had been raised in a life of privilege and prestige, the only daughter of a Texan cattle rancher who had struck oil while drilling a well. Mac never would have guessed it, from the way she carried herself; she didn't act like someone who had grown up with money, but he suspected that to be one of the reasons that Stella disliked her so much. Stella had worked for everything she'd ever gotten; she probably assumed that Terra, coming from money, was handed everything on a silver platter. But Terra's multiple diplomas spoke volumes – as did her fluency in nearly half a dozen languages at the age of fifteen.

He cleared his throat. "When will we know something?"

Stella shrugged. "Flack's still at the hospital. He's supposed to call when she gets out of surgery."

Mac studied Stella's face carefully. There was something in her eyes that he immediately recognized. The two of them had been friends for a long time; they'd worked together for years. Mac knew all of Stella's facial expressions, all of her tones of voice, all of her postures, all of her moods. "You're feeling guilty," he surmised.

"I don't like her." She brought her hands to her face, her fingers curled as though she were about to catch a ball. "She drives me crazy. She's arrogant and obnoxious and…" She trailed off and leaned against the glass beside him. "She saved Don's life, Mac."

He nodded. Danny had told them the whole story when he called earlier – although he spoke so rapidly that Mac almost hadn't been able to understand him. "I know. But don't change the way you feel about her just because she got shot, Stella. That's not fair to her."

"This would be so much easier if she could just be a bitch. But no. She had to go and be noble. Makes it really hard to hate her."

Mac smiled sadly. "Well, maybe she'll do something selfish soon, so you can go back to disliking her without feeling conflicted."

Stella sighed. "We can only hope."

There was a knock on the door, and both Mac and Stella turned to find Chief Robinson silhouetted in the doorway. He shot a pointed look at Mac, who excused himself from Stella and made his way out into the hall. Mac wasn't sure what to expect from the chief, since the last time he had seen the man, he had almost gotten fired. And as the two walked down the hallway, with the chief still not saying anything, Mac was beginning to fear the worst.

"You'll be pleased to hear," the chief said, sliding his hands into his pockets, "that Ambassador Pamchenko will not be pressing charges over the flagrant violation of his rights."

Mac blew out a relieved breath. He had regretted that lapse in judgment from the beginning, but knowing now that Alexi Pamchenko had absolutely nothing to do with the crime made his guilt that much worse. And even though the NYPD had decided not to take action, there was always the possibility of a civil suit. Mac was indeed glad to hear that the ambassador had decided not to go through with it, though he had every right to do so. "That is good news."

"He is also not expecting a public apology, though I trust you will issue one regardless."

Mac nodded slowly. He had been planning on doing that, once the case was wrapped. "Of course."

"And the DA is going to thank the Pamchenko family for their help in the investigation." Robinson folded his arms across his chest and turned to face Mac. "I in no way condone what you did, but I must admit, if you hadn't gone to search their apartment, we might never have found the evidence we needed to convict Kozlov."

"Is the DA confident that we have enough for trial?"

Robinson nodded. "We have his confession, and we have it on videotape, so that it's clear he was not forced into doing it. At this point, any evidence your lab may find is an added bonus. Not to mention the mandatory time he'll have to serve for assaulting Detective Flack and shooting Special Agent McQueen. We'll have plenty of time to start compiling our case against him. Plus, I imagine the ambassador will spare no expense in seeing that justice is served."

Mac hung his head. He hadn't been present with the Pamchenkos had arrived to identify their son's body, but he imagined that it would have been difficult to witness. To be told that your son was the only suspect in a multiple homicide, only to discover that he had been deceased for several days, could not be easy news to here. Mac did not envy them.

"Detective Taylor," Robinson said, and Mac winced at the brusque tone his voice adopted, "I don't think I need to tell you that I'm very disappointed in your behavior on this case."

"I'm disappointed myself, Chief," Mac said. "Rest assured, it will not happen again."

"No. I don't suppose it will. You of all people should understand that the integrity of the lab is at risk. We can't have something like this happen again. It would compromise any open investigations – possibly even closed ones."

Mac nodded again. "Yes, sir. It will not happen again."

"Good. Then I'll let you get back to work." He turned to leave, but stopped and glanced back at Mac over his shoulder. "You will let me know when you hear about Special Agent McQueen?"

"Of course."

Robinson pursed his lips. "She's a good agent. It would be a shame if we lost her."

Mac privately agreed.

* * *

Danny stepped into the shower, anxious to wash off any and all traces of the day. He rested his head against the cool tile and let the warm water soothe his tired muscles. If ever his heart were going to quit on him, today would be the day for it to happen. He honestly didn't think he would be able to handle anything else without going absolutely crazy, or just dropping dead altogether. Two of the women he cared about most in the world, and he had found both of them unconscious in the same day. Lindsay was fine – nothing more than a bump, and she'd brushed off the doctor's concerns much the same way Danny would have in that situation. 

Terra, on the other hand…

He felt guilty. He knew he shouldn't. It wasn't his fault. He had gone with his first instinct, which was to protect Lindsay, whom he knew to be alone. He didn't even have to think about it – he heard the shot, and he thought of Lindsay. Terra and Flack were together, and there was no reason to believe that one of them wasn't the one doing the shooting. Terra had even told him, the night before, that if ever he had to choose between them, not to choose her. He knew he made the right decision in going to Lindsay first. He just wished he didn't feel like he had failed his best friend. Because she was currently in ICU, and the doctors weren't sure if she would last the night.

Danny gave up all pretense of actually showering and just stood under the spray. If Terra didn't make it, if she didn't come through this, he would be devastated. He would not know what to do with himself. But he would survive. If it had been Lindsay…

He didn't even want to finish that thought.

They hadn't talked, on the way back to her apartment. He had driven her in complete silence, neither one of them acknowledging what had happened between them in the alley. Danny still didn't know what had come over him. He was beginning to think it was merely pure stupidity on his part – especially considering that look she gave him when he pulled away. She looked as though she were ready to flee, not fall all over him. What had he been thinking, kissing her like that? He repeatedly banged his head against the wall.

_Idiot. Moron. What the hell were you thinking? Way to make things even more awkward between the two of you, you complete fucktard._

He had fantasized about his first kiss with Lindsay hundreds of times – vivid, nightlong fantasies that had him still aroused when he woke the next morning. He would sweep her off her feet. He would dazzle her with his kissing prowess. He would make her breathless, make her flush, make her moan his name. All of his fantasies, all of his plans, had not involved kissing her on the spur of the moment like he had in the alley. That wasn't how he had wanted it to happen. But he was stupid and impulsive and had acted without thinking, so glad that she was alive that he had to kiss her then and there.

_Idiot._

He shut off the water and groped for his towel. His ears perked suddenly as he heard the unmistakable click of his front door opening. He quickly wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped slowly out of the shower, reaching for his gun, which he had brought into the bathroom with him.

"Danny?"

He shook his head, sure he had just hallucinated. He had to be hearing things. He was under severe emotional stress, and he was going crazy. That could be the only explanation. Because there was no way –

"Danny?"

He tightened his grip on the towel and opened the door. Damn, if this was a hallucination, it was good. It even had the accent right. "Lindsay?"

The words were barely out of his mouth when she pressed her lips to his, pushing him back against the wall, her hands clutching the sides of his face with enough force to bruise. He responded immediately, sliding his hands down her back to cup her ass and pull her more fully against him. She was more than willing, attacking his lips with a passion he never thought he'd get to experience.

He didn't stop to question why she was kissing him, mostly because there wasn't enough blood left in his brain to form coherent thoughts. All he knew was that she was here, in his arms, kissing him so completely that he knew no other woman in the world would ever be able to compare to her. Her lips sealed the deal quite effectively. He was hers, pure and simple. He could never belong to another woman, nor did he ever want to.

She ran her tongue along the seam of his lips, and he parted them eagerly, desperate to taste her. He explored her mouth thoroughly, leaving no part of it untouched, and reveled in the faint traces of coffee and something else that was just uniquely Lindsay. He gripped her hips tighter, trying to get her closer. She needed to be closer, even if the only way to do that was to fuse her body to his.

Her hands went to his towel.

He came to his senses abruptly, grabbing her wrists to halt her movements and gently pushing her away. As much as he wanted her to do what she was about to do, they still had a lot of things to talk about.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice almost fearful.

"Nothing's wrong," he said. "Believe me, nothing's wrong. But I just… I thought that…" He ran the pad of his thumb lightly across her bottom lip, which was swollen from his kiss. He fought the lump that suddenly lodged itself in his throat and continued. "You wanted to talk."

She smiled softly, a smile that went all the way to her eyes, and it made his heart ache. "I did. But now I think that talking is overrated."

As she began to trail her fingers down his chest, with just the barest hint of pressure, he was inclined to agree with her. However, he still needed her to understand what had happened with Terra, and why it wasn't ever going to happen again. "Lindsay, please. I need to explain – "

She shook her head, her eyes open for the first time in a long time. "No, Danny. You don't."

He raised his eyebrows. This was a new development. "Yes. I do."

She stepped closer to him, and he tried to move backwards, to keep the space between them, but his back hit the wall. He was trapped. "I don't need you to explain. It was wrong of me to expect you to tell me everything about…your past relationships. I can't ask that of you because I haven't been honest with you."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she placed her fingers on his lips. "I should have told you about the trial as soon as I found out. But I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid. I was afraid that if you knew the real reason I couldn't be with you, then – "

"Montana," Danny said, speaking around her fingers, "I didn't need you to tell me. I wanted you to, but mostly I just wanted you to feel like you could tell me."

She smiled with her eyes but not her lips. "Yeah, it took me a while, but I figured that out. My point is, I don't need to know everything, Danny. I trust you."

I trust you. If he wasn't already completely nuts about her, those three words would have done it right there. That was all he ever wanted from her – that she could trust him with her secrets, with her darkness. He just wanted her to feel that she could come to him when she needed someone. He tried to squash the smile, but he couldn't. It spread across his face like wildfire. "I want to tell you. I want you to understand – "

"I do understand." She removed her fingers from his lips and gently brushed them against him arm. He shivered. "I finally think I do. The relationship you have with Terra, it's important to you. I guess I thought that you couldn't have two women in your life. But you know what? I don't care. Because I love you, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you go."

He laughed, amazed that he got to hear those words tumble so effortlessly from her lips. Unable to stand it, he surged forward and pressed his lips to hers – a gentle caress, similar to their kiss in the alley. He pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

But Lindsay wasn't finished. "And the fact that you want to tell me," she whispered, "is more than I could ever hope for. But I've been thinking about it, and I think one of the reasons I was so jealous of Terra was because she knows a part of you that I don't." She dropped her eyes, and he blushed when he realized that the towel was doing nothing to hide his current condition. She met his gaze again, the corners of her lips tugging upwards in the trace hint of a smile. "I don't know that part of you because I refused to let myself get too close to you. I pushed you away when I needed you the most. I have no one to blame but myself."

Danny shook his head emphatically. "No. I was an idiot. Instead of talking to you about it, I went out and got drunk and slept with – "

"You were upset. It's completely – "

Was she seriously telling him that what he had done was acceptable? No, it wasn't. The fact that he had been upset did not excuse him treating two women he loved like their feelings didn't matter. "Don't rationalize this, Lindsay. I was an asshole, and I hurt you, and the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you."

She looked away. "It's only fair. I hurt you first."

He placed his fingers under her chin and gently turned her attention back to him. He wanted to say something about how much it killed him to see her in obvious pain and be unable to do anything about it. He wanted to say how he would have done anything to get back the Lindsay that had disappeared after the Holly case. He wanted to say a lot of things, but what he said was, "I'm sorry, are we seven years old?"

Her incredulous look lasted a split second before her face dissolved into a grin. "Well, we certainly act like it sometimes."

He brought his other hand to her face. "All I wanted was for you to let me in. I'm in love with you, Lindsay. I want to know every part of you."

She sniffled, and a tear slipped down her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb. "You know what I want?" He shook his head and held his breath. "I want you to kiss me again."

He was more than happy to oblige. He dipped his head to meet her waiting lips, kissing her softly, reverently – the way a pilgrim bows before religious relic. He tangled his fingers in her curls, which felt like silk on his skin. His heart tripped over itself when he felt her hands slide up his chest to grasp his shoulders. She opened her lips when his tongue requested access, and he knew he could never get enough of this woman. There was no such thing as enough when it came to Lindsay. He nipped at her lips, and she whimpered.

He froze, and she pulled away, her eyes full of concern. He blinked at her.

_Oh, thank God. Still Lindsay._

"Danny? Are you okay?"

He nodded. "I'm good." Then he kissed her again.

And this time, when her hands went to his towel, he did nothing to stop her.

Afterwards, they lay tangled on his bed, the sheet haphazardly wrapped around them but covering little. Lindsay was pillowed on his chest, riding the rise and fall of his breathing, and he was entertaining himself by twining and untwining their fingers, marveling at how perfectly her hand still fit in his. Of course, that was nowhere near as spectacular as the fact that Lindsay was cuddled beside him in his bed. After all the times she had pushed him away, he never thought that they would end up here. But here they were.

"Hey," he said, as something suddenly occurred to him. She looked at him. "How did you get in?"

Lindsay rolled away from him and leaned over the edge of the bed, rummaging for something in her pants pocket. After a few seconds, she held up a key – the key he had given Terra three and a half years ago, when they became each other's 'in case of emergency' contacts. He knew it was hers, because she had painted it Mets colors to piss him off.

"How did you…?"

Lindsay lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "It was in my locker this morning, along with this." She handed him a small piece of paper, which he unfolded. He recognized Terra's handwriting immediately; she'd written him more notes than he could remember.

_Monroe-_

_I think you deserve this more than I do._

_-McQueen_

He rolled his eyes. "Shit. Now I owe her."

Lindsay smiled. "I think we both do."

He returned her smile, but shook his head. "Seriously. Don't let her know that. She'll collect."

He tensed then, as his mind caught up with his mouth. Terra might not be around to collect. He felt his eyes burn and dug into them with the heels of his hands. He had to stop thinking like that. He hadn't stayed at the hospital because there was nothing he could do, other than call her brother – and hadn't that been a fun conversation. Bullitt's accent was even thicker when he yelled; Danny had barely been able to understand him. It didn't help that the youngest McQueen boy was in Florida and obviously had terrible reception on his cell phone.

Also, he really had to not think about another woman when Lindsay was naked beside him. The familiar feeling of guilt returned. He shouldn't be this happy when Terra was fighting for her life, even though she would kick his ass if she knew he was feeling that way. It just didn't seem right.

"She'll be fine," Lindsay murmured, settling against him once more. She draped her arm across his abdomen. "I haven't known her that long, but she seems like a fighter."

Danny nodded somberly. It wasn't her first time in the hospital. It was hard for him to forget the three agonizing days he had spent on the uncomfortable benches in the waiting room of the psych ward. But he couldn't remember it having ever been so serious before. There was never a chance that she would die. "She is," he murmured, wrapping an arm around Lindsay and stroking her shoulder with his thumb.

Lindsay rested her head against his chest, lightly pressing her lips to his skin. "So tell me about her."

He frowned. This was not exactly the conversation he'd envisioned having in this situation. "I thought you said you didn't need to know."

"I don't," Lindsay said matter-of-factly, giving him another kiss. "I want to know."

He smiled, placed a kiss on her forehead, and settled back against the pillows. "Well then, let me tell you a story about why I don't like taking the Staten Island Ferry anymore."

Lindsay giggled. "Sounds interesting."

"Oh, you'll definitely get a kick out of it." He twined their fingers again. "Lots of embarrassing information about me."

"Must be my lucky day."

He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "You and me both, Montana."

* * *

Flack hated hospitals. They had always given him the creeps, but ever since the bomb, he hadn't been able to set foot in one without getting the chills. Just walking through the doors was torture anymore. As soon as that all-too-familiar smell hit his nose, he was bombarded with images he'd rather forget. Waking up in a hospital bed, half his stomach covered in skin grafts, wires and tubes connecting him to machines and IVs. The horrible feeling of being completely useless as he suffered through physical therapy. The pitying looks, the people speaking to him as though he were dying… Ever since finally being allowed to leave, he tried to avoid hospitals as much as possible, going so far as to ask the CSIs to handle the questioning of witnesses if one of their cases involved talking to someone from the ER. 

But now here he was, sitting in one of those blue plastic chairs, his fingers tightly gripping a Styrofoam cup of something that slightly resembled coffee, his eyes glued to the window across from him, where curtains still surrounded Terra's bed. It was like watching a train wreck – he didn't want to look, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. He was afraid that if he even blinked, something would happen, and he would miss it. She had come out of surgery after a few hours – he made the necessary calls to let everyone know, though he left it up to Danny to pass the news along to Terra's brother – but the doctors were not optimistic.

One of them, whose name Flack should know but couldn't remember for the life of him, had taken him aside to give him the news. It had taken some prodding for them to tell him anything; Flack wasn't family, nor was he her 'in case of emergency' contact – Danny was, and he didn't even want to think about that – but it had only taken one flash of his badge to get the doctor to start talking.

"We were able to stop the bleeding, but she's lost a lot of blood. We gave her a transfusion, but it might not be enough."

Flack had offered his own blood, as much as they could take. He was halfway through rolling up his sleeve when the doctor laid a hand on his arm. It wasn't just the blood, he told him. Because of how the bullet had entered her shoulder, it was entirely possible that she might lose all motor functions in her arm. They wouldn't know how bad the damage really was until she woke up.

If she woke up.

"It's really just a question of waiting," the doctor had explained. "The longer it takes for her to wake up…"

Flack had cut the doctor off with a wave of his hand. He really didn't need anyone telling him about comas. He had enough firsthand experience to last a lifetime. The doctor had gratefully taken the hint and left Flack alone with his sour mood. That was hours ago, and Flack was still here, waiting for someone to tell him something – anything. He couldn't take the waiting. Patience had never been his strong suit.

Tired of sitting, Flack got to his feet, restlessly pacing the corridor in front of Terra's room. He had no idea what to do with his hands. He shoved them in his pockets. He absently rubbed the back of his neck. He clenched and unclenched his fingers. His eyes darted back and forth between the window and the clock mounted to the wall.

He was very slowly losing his damn mind.

What was it about this woman that had him so completely turned around? Why was he in a place he hated, anxiously waiting for news? Why was he so terrified that something bad would happen to her if he were to leave? He knew very little about her, except that she had eight brothers, wore men's shoes, and apparently was pretty adventurous – considering she'd been cited for public indecency at the Statue of Liberty. She could speak different languages. She could fight. She had wicked aim. She effortlessly quoted Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, quite possibly one of the greatest movies ever made. She was beautiful. She was smart. She was amazing.

She had saved his life. He sat down again, his restless energy manifesting itself entirely in his left leg, which bounced. If she hadn't thrown that knife, Flack would be the one in the hospital bed right now – or possibly in a body bag. And the fact that she had hauled herself to her feet while suffering from a gunshot wound was nothing short of amazing. And she had done that for him, when he'd given her no real reason to.

He went to the window again, placing his fingers against the glass and willing the curtain shielding Terra's bed from his gaze to just disappear, so that he could see her with his own eyes. He glanced at the door. No one had been by in a while. No one would notice if he just slipped in. Ah, hell, he was already breaking half a dozen hospital codes having stayed this long in ICU anyway, might as well break a few more.

He moved quickly, opening the door as quietly as he could and shutting it behind him just as silently. He braced for an alarm or something, but the only sounds in the small room came from the machines monitoring Terra's breathing and heart rate. He cautiously reached for the curtain and drew it back, and his heart broke.

She was so pale. Her shoulder was bandaged and bound tightly to the side of her body. Wires hooked her to the various machines beside her bed, and tubes connected her to at least two IVs. Her breathing had steadied but her chest still hardly moved, and it didn't mean a damn thing if she didn't open her eyes. It was remarkable that there weren't more cuts on her body. He glanced down at the insides of his forearms, which had been scraped raw by the roof.

He looked around for a chair and found one in the corner. He pulled it across the floor and sat beside her bed, his eyes trained on her face – on the eyes that moved rapidly behind her lids, on the barely parted lips. He wrapped his hand around her wrist, his fingers settling on the delicate throb that was the only sign that she was still alive.

The steady rhythm of her pulse lulled him to a restless sleep.

He came awake suddenly, a sharp shooting pain traveling across his badly injured face. His eyes flew open, and he raised his head from its place of repose on Terra's bed. He had no idea how long he'd been sleeping, but the hospital was still dark. He glanced around the room, trying to find what had woken him, and his eyes came to rest on Terra.

She was awake. Her eyes were open, at least, and they were clear. She raised her eyebrows at the sight of him.

Flack didn't know what to do. Should he find a doctor so that they could come and check on her? Should he call Danny and let him know that she'd opened her eyes? Or should he just stay here, his hand still maintaining its death grip on her wrist, and enjoy the few moments of peace they got to have before the real world ruined everything?

"Hey," he whispered. He immediately caught himself. He hated, back when he was in the hospital, when people spoke to him in hushed tones. His stomach had been blown open. His ears were fine. "Welcome back," he said, slightly louder.

She blinked at him, and for a moment he wondered if she had any idea what was going on. But then she went, "Did we get him?"

He couldn't help but smile. He was glad he had thought to ask Mac about the case when he called earlier. He had a feeling, once she woke up, she would be anxious to hear what had happened to Kozolv. "Yeah. Once Mac and Stell knew what to look for, the evidence came pouring in. He gave a full confession. We got him."

Terra nodded imperceptibly. "Good." Her eyes made a slow trek downwards, coming to rest on his shirt. "Are you okay?" she asked, the concern evident in her tone.

Flack followed her gaze, only just now realizing that his shirt was covered in blood. He hadn't even noticed. He looked up. "I'm fine. It's, uh… It's yours."

She kept her tone light, but her face sobered. "Oh. I guess I owe you a new shirt."

He licked his lips and took a chance. "I'd settle for dinner."

Her smile was faint, but it was there. "I can do dinner." She bit her lower lip. "I hope you don't mind leftovers."

He hated that she knew he had called her that. He hadn't meant it. He resisted the urge to touch her anywhere else, keeping his fingers locked around her wrist. "Are you kidding? I love leftovers."

She slid her arm out of his grip, and he furrowed his brow, confused. From the way their conversation was going, she wanted to give whatever was between them a try, but if she didn't want him to touch her… His unasked question was answered a moment later when she rested her hand on top of his. He looked up at met her gaze – he was pleased to note that the emptiness had vanished from hers.

"Don," she said, and his eyes widened. He had never heard her address anyone, besides Danny, by first name. "The thing you have to understand about Danny and me is that our relationship was a lot different when we first met. It was fun, you know. It was about… Well, I don't think it was really about anything, actually."

He exhaled slowly through pursed lips, but he didn't interrupt her.

"Now… I don't know how to explain it. It's not the same as it used to be. The closer we got, the less we… I'd say he's like a brother, but considering the situation, that sounds kind of sick." Flack raised his eyebrows in silent agreement. Terra shook her head and continued. "But it's true. My brothers… They started treating me differently, like I was this porcelain doll that was easily going to break. Danny doesn't do that. Danny treats me like…me. I'm not sure quite how to describe it, but he's important to me. That isn't going to change."

He sighed. He really wanted to be able to get past this. It had happened before he and Terra had ever met. He knew he shouldn't let this be a problem, but he couldn't help it. "I don't know if I'll ever be okay with the idea that you slept with him."

She rolled her eyes. "And I don't know if I'll ever be okay with the fact that you're a Yankees fan, but you make sacrifices."

He smiled. He was more than willing to try, as evidenced by the fact that her being a Mets fan did absolutely nothing to change his opinion of her. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bed. "So, about dinner… What do you think? Italian?"

Terra pursed her lips. "Nah. I'm sick of Italian. But I know a good Irish pub in the Village."

Flack laughed and ducked his head. "Sounds good to me."


End file.
